Mindbender (Refinished)
by KeshaRocks
Summary: For the readers who were here at the beginning, and now to the readers who may stumble upon that story later, I can't thank you enough. Your feedback has taught me, helped me, and encouraged me to make writing my career. So I'd like to give you my deepest thanks, and if I could, I'd give every one of you a hug. And I hope you enjoy this refinished version of the story: Mindbender.
1. Prologue

**~I first wrote this story back in 2013, when I was still in high school and fangirling over the How to Train Your Dragon TV Series. I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if someone utilized the Changewing and its abilities, until finally, I decided to put my idea on paper.**

 **Suddenly I was getting feedback of all kinds, and I was learning and tinkering and adjusting things until I'd become obsessed with this story, and writing.**

 **Now aiming for my Bachelor's Degree in Creative Writing/English, I look back and this story, and . . . I cringe.**

 **But I also smile and laugh at seeing how much I've progressed through the years.**

 **When I see that story still getting favored, and reviewed, and people choosing to follow me because of this story, I can't think of words because I'm just so shocked that people** _ **still**_ **find that story, amazing.**

 **But I am ever grateful that people love the idea and continued that love through what turned into a Mindbender Series.**

 **And for the readers who were here at the beginning, when I was actively updating that story, and now to the readers who may just stumble upon that story one day, I can't thank you enough.**

 **You were, and** _ **are**_ **the reason why I chose to make writing my career; who gave me the confidence to believe that I might actually have a talent for this – a talent to express my thoughts and feelings in writing when I can't find my voice in real life.**

 **Your endless feedback, both positive and critical, have taught me a lot, and helped me grow alongside learning in school.**

 **So with this, I'd like to give you my deepest thanks, and if I could, I've give every one of you a hug.**

 **Now, I'd like to present to you, a refinished version of my most popular story on my profile, Mindbender.**

 **I hope you enjoy.**

 **KeshaRocks Xxx~**

* * *

The darkness around him was endless, but it felt comfortable.

As he traversed, his feet are muffled, quieted as if walking on a plush carpet.

So why does his heart beat like a hummingbird's wings? Why does he feel, uneasy?

Lifting his hand, he can see it, see the blue veins running down his hand, see the brown stitching of his green tunic sleeve.

 _Where am I_? he thought his lips moved to speak the words, but the voice had come from his mind, and echoed around him like he is in a cave.

The world bends and tightens into an actual tunnel of a cave, and at the end, a golden light wavers. Inviting. Welcoming.

Traversing down the corridor, he feels his waist for a dagger, but he finds nothing. The squeaking of his mechanical foot is the only other sound, and even that feels too loud.

Once he's a yard from the light, suddenly it surges forward, as if excited to see him, and wanting to latch onto him.

Squinting against it, he thought he saw a figure standing before it.

It was merely a glimpse, but his stomach immediately sank at the sight of the figure.

One moment he is there. And then he is not.

And then he is shoved aside, locked into a box with no key, and the blood is not his, his body was not his, his name was not his.

Staring through a small rectangle cut at eyelevel, he finds eyes of darkness staring back.

Endless pits of inky black stare at him, squinting as the thing gives a violating and grotesque smile.

He wants to scream, _tries_ to scream, but his words are cut off.

He can feel the Other there, filling him, laughing silently as he marvels at the heat of the sun on his face, at the damp sea breeze filling his nose with salt, at the pain of the hand now healed of its wound.

Never – never has the Other felt such things, felt them wholly and not as something in between and diluted.

And those eyes — his eyes . . . they belonged to the Other now.

To the demon who had walked through the temporary door left ajar in his mind and seized his body as if it were a mask to wear.

He has no words, for he has no voice, no self, nothing—

And he can only watch as if through a window as he feels the demon, who has possibly trailed him the entirety of his life, for this moment, this opportunity, take a deep breath of air.

His face turns expressionless. Cold as the biting ice of the north.

A faint smile blossoms on his full mouth, born of cruelty and arrogance, and he examines the dagger strapped to his waist.

His real waist.

The demon frowns at the dagger but picks it and palms it with skill.

Time slows and stretches as his body pivots towards his friends, his father; as his own arm lifts, his hand pivoting the dagger towards them, ready to strike.

 _No, no . . ._

The demon smiles with his lips, and he can feel the hunger as his stolen eyes rake over Astrid, lingering in some places.

 _No!_

The demon roars and hisses at him. It beats him, whips him, and breaks him until he can only whimper.

It throws him back into the box and covers him in chains. His neck, his wrists, his ankles, even strapping an iron mask over him. It chains the box shut and made him lie on his wounds to weaken him.

And he watches.

He sobs and weeps and cries in agony as he watches it unleash hell upon his home. His village.

His screams as silent as the darkness that surrounds him.


	2. Chapter 1

Hiccup's scream chokes in his throat as the world tilts and turns into view. His legs feel confined, and the whimper of a dying animal bobs his throat. Thankfully the rippling dark breaks, allowing sunlight to flood his eyes.

And Hiccup feels a cool brush of air kiss his sweaty forehead as he kicks the blanket off himself. Propped up on his elbows he stares around his room, fighting the nausea churning his stomach.

He's home. He's safe.

The dull ache creeping up his spine settles into his chest.

He rolls over, squeezing his eyes shut, stuffing his face into his pillow. He'd just been dreaming about something. Something important.

Hiccup hugs his pillow around his ears. He isn't ready to remember what had happened, to recall the nightmare.

The faint pins-and-needles sensation, still there, buzzes through him like a soft vibration, though the closer he drifts to full consciousness, the faster it seems to fade.

In a sudden wave, the nausea seizes his stomach and mind. Hiccup scrambles out of bed, knowing he won't have enough time to make it to the bathroom. So he runs over to his desk and vomits into the bucket set at the side, filled with crumpled papers and broken charcoal.

He digs his fingers into the wooden sides, trying to contain the sounds of his retching.

Thankfully he knew his father is already gone for the day, leaving him to be loudly, thoroughly sick. All he can do it wait for the retching to subside, for the lingering tremors to ripple and fade like a pool.

Panting, he braces himself over the bucket, counting each breath.

Only a nightmare. One of many he's been having for the past few days, and that haunt him asleep and waking. Hiccup focuses on his breathing – in through his nose, out through his mouth. Over and over.

When it seems like he was done heaving, he eases from the bucket – but doesn't go far.

Suddenly there was a smooth but slick feeling on his hand. Hiccup yelps and jerks back, nearly tipping over the bucket. He bumps his head against the wall, swearing softly.

After blinking his vision back into focus, Hiccup finds a large shadow before him. Toothless' pale green eyes shine, filled with worry.

Hiccup readjusts himself, pressing his back against the wooden wall.

Toothless coos as Hiccup pats his moist forehead. "I-it's okay bud. I just . . . had a bad dream."

Toothless lays his head in Hiccup's lap and he wraps his arms around the Night Fury's head for comfort. Hiccup's eyes slip dazedly to his window, where he watches the half-naked tree limbs quiver and sway, waving in and out of his view, like clawed hands snatching at the sun.

He's supposed to be at the Academy, well, now. But with his head still light as a feather and his stomach still churning like a stormy sea, he can't bring himself to move. But also, he wants to bathe from the sweat gathering in every curve and hollow.

Forcing himself to stand, he takes a deep breath to calm his spinning head. Toothless' head is under his hand in an instant, balancing Hiccup as he creeps down the stairs, each step heavier, harder. He can deal with emptying the bucket later.

He continues past the dining table and into the bathroom where he finds the trough filled with water. Though cold, he doesn't care as he slips inside, biting back his yelp. He takes the soap and begins to scrub himself, still breathing . . . still breathing.

What was the dream? What was that . . . _thing_?

Hiccup slips deeper into the water until it's just underneath his nose. For a silent moment, he watches the bubbles drift along the surface.

He doesn't know what exactly started these nightmares, only that they've been happening since the beginning of the week. At first, he thought it was just due to some bad mutton, but even after refusing the food for days, they haven't gotten any better.

Only this time it is worse, the first time he's ever really vomited from such terrors. He can't shake the eerie feeling that there was, someone else there. Some _thing_ else.

Hiccup places a hand on his temple and rubs the aching spot. Toothless saunters up to the side of the trough and nuzzles his shoulder. Hiccup spares the dragon a pat on the snout. He grabs the pitcher on the stand next to the trough and begins to rinse himself off.

By the time he's done, he ruffles his hair with the towel before tying it around his waist. Heading back upstairs, he snatches a quick apple from the fruit bowl on the table. He quickly ruffles his fingers through his hair before changing into his green tunic draped over the back of his chair. Opening the drawers to his dresser, he slips onto a pair of brown pants before sliding on his fur boot.

As quickly and efficiently as he can, he buckles and secures Toothless' saddle before the two of them head out the front door. Securing himself in the saddle, Hiccup grabs the handles and orders Toothless to fly. With a powerful flap of the dragon's wings, they're in the air, his stomach briefly dropping until Toothless levels out and it flips back over itself and settles.

Cold air breezes around him, stirring his hair, blowing the scent of rusty leaves and singed autumn smell that is almost spicy. It is a nice day, if just a little bit cooler than he likes. At least it doesn't look like it is going to rain.

Toothless' black wings flap up and down, cutting through the air and making a heavy _whoosh_ every time they go down. The sun sends a rippling effect across his scales, his ears twitching here and there at the sounds of the village.

Looking over the side, he finds the village already in motion. People walking about the dirt sidewalks, pushing carts up and down hills, children laughing in the streets. Wares being exchanged from different stands, though Gobber's shop is closed for the day.

Dragons are flying about, riders absent or present, towards the feeders or the roofs of the brown-tiled houses.

Nothing like the disaster that still plagues him. Hiccup tries to let the air blow away the trouble of the nightmare. And yet there is something about it that seemed, ominous.

A warning. Or a vision of what may be to come.

He tries not to think about the feeling of having a pair of eyes watching him, constantly.

Hiccup's thoughts are disrupted as Toothless make a sharp dip down into the arena of the Academy. With the cage lifted, can see everyone gathered at the center. The sigil for the Academy shows clear in the sunlight.

As expected, everyone is present and ready to go. The only thing Hiccup is thankful for is today, Gobber is teaching hand-to-hand combat, instead of Hiccup teaching the class different facts about dragons. Hiccup tries not to groan at the anticipation of Gobber punishing him for being late.

They land outside the gates, seeing Snotlout and Tuffnut shield-battling while Gobber oversees. Doing his best to walk in undetected, Hiccup keeps close to the sides, managing to make it to Fishlegs – of whom is scratching Meatlug behind the ears.

"Oh, there you are Hiccup. Where were you?" he asks.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I overslept." He says. "I haven't really been sleeping that well these past few days."

"Not going to lie, you do look a little, peaked." Fishlegs says as he stands by Hiccup's side.

"Oh well, great to know it's obvious." Hiccup grumbles.

He tried not to look at the polished shield his father keeps as a mirror when he was washing up this morning, and failed. Already his eyes were showing purple underneath, red veins snaking their way to the center of his eye. And though he has been doing his best to be outside, his skin seems to have grown a slight shade pale.

Snotlout swings his shield, Tuffnut ducking and taking the moment to laugh. But that moment cost him and Snotlout whacks at the twin in the abdomen. The twin goes rolling and skipping across the stone. When he comes to a stop, the twin lifts his head up and laughs, "Oh, that was awesome. How about we try that again, but a little harder on the swing?"

Then the twin is right back up and charging for Snotlout – who was too busy gloating to notice the twin – as he slams his shield into his head. Hiccup leans a hip against a barrel, crossing his one ankle over the other and chuckles softly.

"Nice of you to show up." Astrid chimes from behind. Hiccup tries not to roll his eyes, but he does smile as she watches her approach, her sky-blue eyes glittering like the ocean's surface. The bangs of her hair gleam gold in the light, swaying over the thin leather band strapped across her forehead. "Was a bit worried about you."

The corner of his mouth twitches upwards. "I appreciate the concern."

Astrid stands to his left, Fishlegs to his right. Astrid leans close to him, folding her arms. "Are you alright?" she whispers.

Hiccup tries not to blush as her breath brushes his ear. "I've just been having trouble sleeping lately."

"You want to talk about it?"

Hiccup shrugs. "Just nightmares, but I don't know why they're bothering me so much."

Snotlout and Tuffnut run and leap towards each other with their shields up, collide and bounce back, skipping across the stone. He and Astrid watch for a moment before she responds. "Maybe you're just working too hard."

"Oh, come now Astrid, when have I worked too hard?" He says with sarcasm. Astrid snorts and punches his arm. Though he hides the grunt of pain, he doesn't stop from rubbing his arm.

"Seriously though, how long have these been going on?"

"Just the beginning of this week. They just seemed to come out of nowhere, last night was the worst." Hiccup holds his stomach to settle the growl of biliousness.

She turns to face him, leaning a hip against another barrel filled with axes. "Do you think it might be due to stress from Dagur? Or maybe Alvin?"

"Maybe," Hiccup says with a shrug. "but I just don't get why it's acting up now. I thought I was handling the situations well, or at least I thought I was."

Alvin and the Outcasts had been enough of a nuisance to deal with. The petty tribe of exiles bearing a grudge against his father isn't something that's new, and with Hiccup's recent string of victories overt the chieftain, he deemed the man less than a threat. Even if skilled in the art of warfare.

Dagur the Deranged was another story. With his tribe now rivaling Berk's, trade routes have been closed,

"You have been oversleeping, lately. At first I just thought were staying up too late drawing and reading."

"Well, I mean that's a partial reason." Hiccup says with a smile.

He was so busy conversing he didn't even notice the clanging of shields stop. And then, "Meanwhile, we're here on time, and waiting while you got to sleep in." Snotlout interjects with an irritated tone.

"Snotlout, keep your eyes up!" Gobber calls, but his timing is _conveniently_ off, because Tuffnut seizes the opportunity and bashes Snotlout's head with his shield. The young Viking's eyes roll in his head and a goofy smile twitches on his lips as he mumbles some utter nonsense and drops to the ground like a stone.

Gobber's laugh mingles with everyone else's as he saunters over to the forming crowd. His peg leg making a quiet thump as he walks. "Glad you could join us, Hiccup." He tries to hide his cringe at the welcoming smack Gobber places to his shoulder. "Today, we will be discussing about how to attack without weapons."

"Uh, didn't we already go through this?" Ruffnut asks as she rests comfortably on the neck of her half of their Zippleback, Barf.

"Yeah," Tuffnut adds, joining on Belch's neck, resting his forearms on his horns.

"Ah, the difference is that there's not even a shield. Today it's strictly just hand-to-hand combat. I think you kids are becoming too dependent on your dragons. You need to remember how to use your hands, before they're gone."

Toothless comes up to Hiccup's side and he pets the dragon's dry snout. The Night fury purrs and sits at his side. Hoisting himself up on the barrel, Hiccup watches as Gobber drags a still loopy Snotlout into the ring to demonstrate how to get out of a chokehold.

While he and Gobber ignore Snotlout's chokes and wheezes, Hiccup lets his eyes drift down to the stone floor.

Almost instantly that eerie feeling of being watched smothers him like a thick fog. Hiccup's darts his eyes around the arena, finding no one in sight. A few shadows make his heart skip, but seconds later the Viking causing them walks by.

The dreams have been happening on and off for a few days now. Sometimes it'll be some minor fear: falling off of Toothless while flying, other times it may be something so vividly horrid that he can't believe his own mind could conjure up something so, vile. He rarely stirs from them, so this morning has left him feeling more than anxious.

There was just something about that dream, something like, having another person there, inside his own mind. But that's impossible; no one is in his mind but, him.

Fingers snap in front of him and Hiccup jostles as he finds Astrid with a hand braced to her hip. "What?" Hiccup asks.

"Where are you?" she chuckles.

"I'm . . . I'm here, with you snapping your fingers in my face."

There's enough humor that Astrid chuckles with a shake of her head. She turns around in time as Gobber claps together his hook and hand and says, "Alright, let's start with the exercises. Hiccup, you'll be paired with Astrid."

Hiccup quietly grumbles his annoyance. Hopping off the barrel, he rolls his shoulders as he joins Astrid at the center of the arena. Her face is a mixture of excitement and eagerness. Normally, it had originally intimidated Hiccup, but that was back when she saw him as a whelp, instead of an equal. Now he can see the friendliness in her eyes, but still won't allow it as an excuse for her to hold back from him.

With Toothless sitting next to Meatlug, Hiccup pats his sides to ensure that his dagger is at his hip before taking up a defensive stance. No weapons, but it doesn't hurt to make sure you have one on yourself.

Gobber holds up his hook arm, now tied with a checkered flag, and waves it before snapping it down. "Begin!"

Hiccup brings his hands up by his face, as trained and starts to hop between his feet. Astrid throws the first punch, as she always does.

The last thing he remembers is blocking Astrid's punch, then his feet are swiped out from under him, the world spins, and he's met with a stinging pain of his cheek hitting the stone floor of the arena. The pain travels through his jaw and his cheek, and when he opens his eyes, he finds stars dancing across his eyes.

Ten seconds. A new record.

Hiccup doesn't register the pain in his arm as Astrid pins it behind him, her foot hooked around his ankle. He stifles his grunts, focusing on his breathing and blinking away the black dots in his vision.

Finally, Gobber calls, "Well done, Astrid." And her grip is gone instantly.

Being the good sport that she is, she holds out her hand to him and he accepts it with a pained smile. "You okay?"

"Never been better." He grunts, stretching out his arm. There's a satisfying pop before he sighs. "Shoulder shall pop back into place as usual."

"I'm impressed; you lasted longer than before." She teases, accompanied with her good-intentional, but painful punches to his arm.

"Progress," Is all he has as his response.

"You can bet you remaining foot that's progress," Gobber chimes. "Now, you will find yourself face-to-face with an opponent who's bigger and stronger. It won't matter if he has a weapon or not, since he'll have you by twice your size and speed. But, as said by my great, great, great, great grandfather, 'The bigger they are, the harder they fall.'"

As Gobber turns to direct it towards the class, the sun falls behind some clouds, leaving him shrouded in shadow, the arena darkening. Hiccup tries to shrink himself while the darkness envelopes him.

For once in his life, he wishes training could go on for hours, if only to help distract his thoughts from the dream last night. Something about it still dwindles around him like a fog, its tendrils tickling at his temples, urging him to remember.

Shaking his head, he quickly begins to think of ways to improve Toothless' saddle, his own leather armor that he's been working on – not just for fighting, but mainly flying. The windburn is becoming enough of a problem that the itch of dry skin now has him scraping himself against his wooden bed. He can think of plenty of useless, rough sketches to come up with, then perhaps maybe a few hours of reading and editing the Book of Dragons.

While Gobber calls Astrid and Fishlegs forward, Hiccup picks at a loose splinter of the barrel he's leaning on.

He makes note to drink a mug of water when he gets home, to stifle the dizziness of his head.

Out of his peripheral vision, he thinks he sees another shadow. Turning his head, he expects – and hopes – to find another Viking roaming around the arena.

He sees nothing.

He would have dismissed it, had it not been for a soft, but cruel disembodied laughter close to his ear. Hiccup jumps back, yelping.

He whirls to find . . . no one. Just empty space.

"Hiccup?" Gobber calls. He turns to find everyone has settled their eyes on him.

Color staining his cheeks, he quickly grabs his hand. "Ow! Oh, oh my Thor, that is a nasty splinter." He says with his most convincing smile. "I should really file down these barrels before someone gets hurt."

He actually considers it, since it could take hours. Empty hours that he plans to fill.

Everyone dismisses him with shakes or nods of their head. Hiccup steps out of the shadows, just as the sun emerges from behind the clouds. He doesn't leave Toothless' side for the rest of the afternoon.


	3. Chapter 2

It is a welcomed and immediate relief when the smell of vomit, sweat and piss is replaced with the fresh air of the island, and the wafting sea breezes. Well, so long as they waft away from the ship.

Shoving his way through his men, both green and pale, Alvin the Treacherous places his hands on his hips as he admires the scale of the island. Despite hearing the continuous vomiting behind him of his weak-willed men, the Viking in Exile smiles wickedly at the idea of all of the dragons here that they can capture and use.

Savage steps up to his right, "We're unloading the food now, sir. And we've also got the traps checked and ready."

"Good," Alvin purrs. "This should be an easy trip." He turns his head slightly to the side and calls, "Mildew!"

After a few seconds of waddling, the old man is at his left. That retched sheep follows later, already chewing on some grass. Alvin doesn't hide his snarl to the animal. More than a few times he's wanted to skin that animal and put it to good use. The only reason he hasn't done it yet is because of Mildew's usefulness.

"What's our first location?"

The old man uses a bony finger and dirt flecked fingernail to tap his scruffy chin with a hum. "Inland is the best guess. Those dragons don't normally settle by the sea, they prefer fresh water. A stream."

"Alright then." He turns to Savage, "Tell the men to get the traps and food inland. We'll settle by a stream, perhaps a forest clearing. Those dragons would prefer a more, meshed environment."

Mildew nods and follows after Savage, the dragon teeth strapped to his staff click with each step.

The old man has been among his gathering for months now, and has been aiding in concocting all brilliant, but still failures of plans to win him Berk. Of course, Stoick's little embarrassment runt, the misnamed 'Dragon Conqueror', has always managed to foil such plans. Leaving Mildew to be the receiver of the punishments.

But recently the old man has proven his worth after learning some of Hiccup's traits that have helped him train dragons on Berk.

After he had managed to trick, and capture Hiccup, Alvin and Mildew concocted a plan of double-mutiny. They tricked Hiccup into thinking that Alvin had betrayed Mildew in the process upon the little runt' capture. The naive child is still just that – a child. And it was proven when Mildew managed to get Hiccup to trust him, and the two worked their way around the island, Hiccup showing different tricks to earn a dragon's trust, until finally Stoick and the Riders showed up and retrieved Hiccup. Mildew did a well job of self-sacrifice and convincing the Riders not to come back for him.

And they haven't since. Either regrouping to think, or they truly just don't care for the old man. Alvin doesn't care, either, so long as they work. But even if they don't, it'll give him the chance to skin the old man alive, and use his meat and bones in another plan to trap dragons. Then he can also turn that obnoxious sheep into some good food, and cozy slippers.

Alvin watches as his men lug crates and barrels off the ship. A little bit excessive for one dragon, but since they seem to gather in packs – as Mildew had advised from Hiccup – they could use the extra inventory.

They begin their trek, Alvin ordering the men to keep a sharp eye out. Bows and swords and shields and daggers are at the ready. Looking around constantly, he doesn't trust a single branch, which is why he doesn't hesitate to chop them away with his sword, in addition to clearing a path.

The land is as empty as the ocean itself, though he occasionally glimpses something shining out of the corner of his eye. Every time he turns to loo, the shimmering transforms into sunlight dancing on a nearby stream, or the wind fluttering the leaves of a loan sycamore atop a knoll.

After an hour they come across a running stream flowing down from a hill, off to the left is a plateau of smooth stone before a hundred-yard drop meets the rocky shores of the sea. To the left is a large and undulating forest where the trunks are old and crackling, the leaves casting many shadows with the sunlight breaking through the canopy.

Perfect.

"Get into positions. And wait on my signal. These things are skittish, surprisingly." Alvin grumbles.

Night is a dangerous time on his island. He only has a few hours until sunset. He keeps his steps light, his eyes and ears open, and his heartbeat steady.

From his spot up a nearby tree – a sturdy, dense oak whose leaves hide him from anything below – he waits. They wait. And wait.

They move about as much as he dares on the branch, only to keep the blood flowing to his limbs. He's just settled, a few of his men falling asleep, when a silence comes towards them. As if the creatures are holding their breath while something passes.

Alvin jabs his men awake, their bows already strung. Quietly, they loosely knock their arrows. Closer and closer the silence creeps.

The trees move, shadows ripple across the leaves. "Keep your aim on the water," Alvin whispers, raising his hand.

They laid their snares carefully, making the dead game – chickens and fish and limbs of sheep – look like they wandered too far and snapped their necks as if fought to free themselves from the fallen branches. The fish, they washed ashore.

Least his men were smart enough to keep their scent off the game as much as possible. Dragons may be advanced in certain fields, but they're still predators. They need to hunt –

There's a snap, a whoosh, and a hollowed-out, wicked roar as they hold, hold, and hold. The sound makes their bones and muscles and breath lock up.

"Fire!" Alvin shouts.

His men release their arrows, flying straight and true.

Another roar, this time laced with pain and fury. There's a heavy sound of air being pushed, the trees leaning back from the effect. Alvin and his men grip their branches, just waiting until the damn thing stops whining.

Once the pushing of air ends, the trees settling back, Alvin and his men climb out of the tree.

The dragon whines and roars and struggles against the rope, rendered completely disoriented from the pain of the arrows in its wings.

"Do it now you bastards! Before I skin you alive!" Alvin says.

For once, his men don't disappoint him as they throw chains over the dragon's back, and quickly and efficiently strapping a metal muzzle to it before it can open its mouth. Though the chances of it breaking free are still relatively high, metal is harder to burn through than rope.

His men tighten the muzzle, designed just for this dragon thanks to a few stolen notes from Trader Johan. No doubt those notes were on their way to Hiccup; and knowing the coward trader, the lie of bad weather will spill easily from his lips.

His men surround the dragon, pinning down its tail and wringing the arrows in its wings to keep it incapacitated. He ignores the screeching, kicking the dragon's side and swatting at it's neck with his mace.

The dragon bucks, but his men hold it down. Blood draws and trails down its scaly neck. It roars and hisses, but all Alvin does is laugh.

He walks around to the dragon's front and crouches, resting his elbows on his knees. As his men hold the dragon's head, chaining its ankles and making sure to leave the arrows in its wings, Alvin grins to the dragon.

"Hello, little Changewing. How would you feel about a trip to Berk?"


	4. Chapter 3

As soon as the lesson is over, Hiccup mounted Toothless and flew away to the cliffs, to the flowerbed made by the Typhoomerang Dragon some time ago. Something settles in his gut at the sight of the beautiful ombre of blues and purples and whites of the blooms spiraling outwards towards the woods, the cliffs.

But before they landed, Hiccup took Toothless up high.

Higher, higher. Higher than the mountains that stood proud and tall, now beneath them.

Then Hiccup pulls on the handles of Toothless' collar and they do a full back flip. Twisting down to the earth. Twisting once, twice, freewheeling.

His world becomes a spinning kaleidoscope of blurred clouds, of blue skies and lush green prairies. An all-too-quick half turn, and Hiccup felt the catch of gravity as they leveled out. They then dip down and land with a smooth crawl.

Hiccup hops off Toothless and just plops onto the ground. He spreads his arms out, feeling the velvet touch of the petals cradle his form. His brown hair drapes over his eyes, blocking out the glare of the evening sun. He tries to move his hands behind his head, but his shoulder is still sore from training with Astrid.

Toothless settles comfortably next to him, sparks flying, the black earth spiderwebbing towards him; the heat of his fire emanating. The warmth braises over Hiccup's skin like phantom hands; followed by the scent of singed grass and dirt.

The sun warms Hiccup's face despite the autumn weather, and soon his skin begins to tingle like the crawling of ants. He won't have much longer before these flowers die too, succumbing to the bitterness of the colder seasons.

It's only a moment before Toothless' wing outstretches over him. An ebony awning that swallows the sun's rays. Hiccup rolls over under the shade, feeling the cold spread through his face, starting from his cheeks.

Toothless' tongue licks his cheek, feeling like slimy sandpaper. Hiccup looks to him, and the Night Fury makes that humorous smile that always makes the young Viking smile.

Hiccup laughs as he wipes away the sloppy kiss, the dragon purring as he nuzzles his cheek.

"I'm okay bud. I'm just, distracted. And tired." Hiccup sighs, looking to the fluffy clouds wavering overhead. "I'm surprised Astrid didn't rip my arm out." He jokes, the dragon cooing. But Hiccup could sense the growling undertone. "I'm fine."

A half-truth. The pain is near nothing compared to the dreams that haunt him even in the daylight. It eases the grip of fear it holds on his spine, but still it lingers in the dark corners of his mind. The corners where he fears that _thing_ lives.

The thought constantly makes his insides turn watery. He could _feel_ another presence in that dream. Something dark; something watching, waiting. He could feel it inside him, not in his heart, but traversing his mind.

What could it all mean? He doesn't feel any different, he's still eating, drinking normally. He isn't speaking in tongues, no violent thoughts. He's seen the symptoms and effects of a demonic possession.

He's been with his father more than enough times during one of Goathi's cleansing rituals. Such an event is rare on Berk, but even with the small numbers, it still shivers Hiccup from the things he witnessed. The convulsions, the vomit, the way the voice shifts . . .

Perhaps a premonition? Was he seeing through the eyes of someone else?

So many questions, so little solutions. Hiccup massages his temple, moaning softly. Toothless' snout is instantly there, nuzzling his hand. Instinctively, Hiccup's hand scratches up the dragon's check to his ear.

Toothless is purring as Hiccup scratches his ear, when the snap of a twig catches their attention. Both heads jerk in the same direction and Toothless begins to snarl.

"You heard it too?" Hiccup asks.

Toothless got up and turns to face the gathering of trees. A grimace forming across his mouth, his retractable teeth snap down from his gums. Hiccup pushes himself to his feet and faced the trees.

He may not be the best fighter on Berk, but that doesn't mean he can't. A small shift of his shoulders, a twine of his fingers and he has a dagger in his palms. A gesture that would go unnoticed by any untrained eye. He tries not to think about the familiarity of the dream.

Walking with cautious feet, as if sneaking up on a sleeping beast, Hiccup enters the treeline. He tries to keep his gait calm, nonchalant, pretending to be inspecting an animal. Because that is a possibility of what it could be. But that is just an assumption. A hope.

He suppresses a shiver as the shade of the canopy crawls over him. Immediately he notes the silence. Even before he walked in, not other sounds emerged apart form that muffled snap.

He and Toothless walk a few yards but nothing emerges. When they finally reach a clearing, Hiccup sighs in relief; he doesn't want to find anything. He turns in a circle, Toothless glaring from side to side, his green eyes near glowing in the shadow.

"I don't see anything bud, maybe we should go." Hiccup insists, until he's stopped with another snap. Toothless' ears perk and he snarls. A deep guttural growl from the back of his throat. He hisses at the foliage to the left.

Hiccup quickly gathers his shield from Toothless' saddle, then turns and faces an opening of bushes. Branches, bare and skeletal, having shed their leaves already wafts in a kiss of air.

He hears it.

A soft, but deep hatred-filled growl answers to Toothless, seeping through the limbs.

This doesn't make sense. They are bare from the autumn season; how can he not see what is hiding?

Then he hears it. From the riding he cannot measure with time, he's learned to listen to the wind. When it whispers of a storm, when it moistens in the summer, how is stings in the winter. So when he hears it whistle behind him, Hiccup wastes no time vaulting over Toothless' hind legs to block a duo of arrows aimed for the Night Fury's side.

Toothless roars, his scaly hackles rising in alert, his mouth glowing that luminescent purple of his fire. The air whistles again, at the front, and this time the Night Fury spits his fire and the arrows reduce to ash before they even make it halfway to him.

"Well, I must admit I am impressed. Hiccup." A deep, and familiar voice hums from the dark. Hiccup grits his teeth, snarling like the Night Fury upon recognition.

Hiccup brings his shield and dagger at the ready as a large figure begins to emerge from the shadows, but he's already placed the name.

"I didn't think a runt like you even knew _how_ to fight." Alvin the Outcast continues as the shadows receive from him, like phantom hands.

"It's not smart to underestimate your opponent, Alvin. I figured you of all people would know that." Hiccup retorts.

Suddenly a horrible screech sends goosebumps across Hiccup's body, down his spine. He turns to find Toothless suddenly entangled in ropes. Outcast soldiers immediately sprint to the Night Fury, pulling the ropes taut and pinning the dragon in place.

"Toothless!" Hiccup cries out in confusion.

Just as he shouts, the whine of a sword makes him turn. He brings up his shield in time to block a deadly blow Alvin tried wedge into his skull. As Hiccup blocks another blow, he quickly sidesteps and brings his dagger up. He bites back the pain in his shoulder from Astrid. Alvin charges with a battle cry, Hiccup bringing his dagger down. But Alvin feints left, ducking and swiping Hiccup's attack. The young Viking is briefly off balance, quickly buying time by saying, "What do you want, Alvin?"

His only answer are two more swipes that he blocks with his dagger. But as he goes to block again, Alvin gets past is guard, his leg kicking up and sending Hiccup spinning and rolling back into the dirt. The young Viking manages to roll up onto his hands and knees, hearing the whining of Alvin's oncoming sword and stomping feet. Ignoring the ache in his chest, Hiccup manages to push off his feet and roll to the right, just as Alvin's sword cleaves the tree that was just behind him. Wooden splinters litter the forest floor, Toothless still roaring, still fighting the ropes. At least his dragon is still alive, a sign that they're only after him, hopefully not Toothless.

His spine shivers as he hears that slithering hiss again. Toothless growling deeply.

"I want to hurt you Hiccup. What else?" Alvin says with a hideous grin, his yellowed teeth spotted with brown.

"We've done this dance before, Alvin. It usually never ends well for you." Hiccup taunts, sparing a little smirk.

Hiccup charges this time, taking the offensive and charging with Alvin. He knocks Alvin's sword aside, the Outcast spinning with skillfully in his hand before swiping again. Hiccup pushes off his feet, vaulting over Alvin as his sword slashes into the forest floor, cutting through the dead leaves and twigs like tissue.

"Whatever your plan is, it's almost a guarantee it won't work." Hiccup adds.

Hiccup advances again, swiping his dagger down, sparks flying as it clashes with Alvin's sword. He goes to strike again, but the Outcast Leader dodges, blocking and side stepping as Hiccup's dagger slices into dried bark. With the Outcast leader behind him, Hiccup whirls in time to see Alvin charging like a raging bull.

Alvin takes a huge leap, raising his sword to bring down the deathblow. Hiccup lowers to one knee, bringing up his shield. The clang deafens his ears, vibrating all through his limbs at the strength of the Outcast.

Gritting his teeth, he attempts to push to his feet, when suddenly his shield is kicked to the side. Hiccup manages to keep it in his grip, cost at the pain jabbing into his muscles, his shoulder near popping out of its socket. Alvin had planned it, another kick delivering blinding pain into Hiccup's side, enough to erupt a cry of pain. Hiccup is sent skipping and rolling into the dirt, loosing his grip on his shield.

As Hiccup attempts to crawl to it, his wrist is stomped on by Alvin. Not enough to break, just to pin him down. Alvin cackles over him, triumphant. "Get him!" he commands.

More Outcasts pour from the shadow of the trees, gathering around him, pinning his ankles and feet. Another hand stomps on his right wrist, forcing his hand to release the dagger. The knife skitters across the dirt, small clouds bellow up and metal clinks echo in the air.

"No! Let go!" Hiccup yells in fury as he tries to wriggle his way free.

The knife had barely made it to its final rest as rough hand grabs under his arms, hauling him to his feet. They make quick work of bending his arms behind his back, hard enough that the pain made him howl. He could feel the rough texture of rope scrape against his skin, but his legs . . .

Gritting his teeth, Hiccup manages to drive his metal foot into the groin of one in front of him. As the man grunts, he drives his head up and into the nose of another. The Outcast releases him, Hiccup diving and rolling onto his feet. He breaks into a run, not caring what direction.

Taking advantage of the shade, he drudges up the lessons of Gobber and his father of freeing himself from binds. Thankfully most of them involved metal shackles and chains, so these ropes were nothing. Adjusting his shoulders and some painful adjusting of his fingers, Hiccup manages to loosen the ropes enough to bring his hands to his front.

The minor victory is short-lived as he notices too late, a foot snapping from the darkness, striking him in the face. He can feel the trickle of blood slowly streaming from his nose, but he can't think past the throbbing pain throughout his head. Black blurs the edges of his vision, the world going in and out of focus.

The sound of angered men swarms him, and rough hands are upon him again, forcing him to stand. One of the men is the same from before, now sporting a broken nose. They turn and face Hiccup towards Toothless, still bound in ropes, the Outcasts holding him tight. He roars in defiance, trying everything he can to get free. His tail whips back and forth, whacking away two of the soldiers, before only to have two more replace them, pinning his tail.

"Toothless!" Hiccup screams.

Alvin chuckles as he approaches. "Well done men, and of course, a hat tip to you Hiccup. You put up a better fight than I expected."

Hiccup only answers by spitting at Alvin's feet. Quick to retaliate, he's punched in the stomach, dropping him to his knees. Another roar from Toothless. Two more blows are delivered to his face, pain crackling up his jaw. They punch him almost everywhere, in places that will bring the most pain, but without doing much physical damage. The ribs, the face, the stomach.

There's more blood leaking from his nose, his entire torso aching and throbbing in time with his heartbeat. When Hiccup can barely keep his eyes open, mostly because one of them is now swelling shut, he hears Alvin command, "Take the Night Fury away. I'm sure he won't want to see this."

Two hands press into his back, keeping Hiccup pinned to his knees. The young Viking lifts his head, feeling like it's made of stone, and watches as they cover Toothless' head with a rough burlap sack. The Night Fury bucks in aggravation, roaring and spreading his wings frantically.

Hiccup ties to call to him, but his voice is barely a whisper from the beating. More ropes are tied around Toothless' neck and the Outcasts tug him deeper into the shadows. Toothless crying for Hiccup. He struggles to loosen himself, but it is no use. He fights with as much as any loyal dragon would, but an Outcast takes a heavy-ended bludgeon and wallops it across Toothless' head.

The Night Fury drops like a stone.

"No," Hiccup whimpers, his voice so hoarse. It's like sandpaper.

He watches helpless as his best friend is dragged away into the darkness. The devastating and eerie silence consumes them.

 _No. This can't be happening_.

Hiccup, on the verge of tears, attempts to push to his feet. Instantly he's kicked in the knee, driving him back into the dirt. He doesn't stop the howl of pain that travels up his leg.

"Now, now boy, let's not be hasty." Alvin's voice speaks from all around him.

The darkness of the woods has combined with the black that spots his vision, cresting around the edges of his vision. His eyes still won't refocus not matter how many times he blinks. The purple-gray dusk of twilight darkens everything. Like a paintbrush coloring over every warm and welcoming tone, only to replace it with cold and unforgiving darkness. He must've been gone by now. Someone _must_ come for him!

Someone!

"Don't worry boy. This won't hurt a bit." Alvin promises, but the hollowness of it makes Hiccup shudder.

A different hand reaches from the darkness and grasps most, if not all of Hiccup's hair. They whirl him around and yank his head up, forcing him to look straight ahead.

At first all he sees is blackness, but then, the hissing rattles again, mocking him, torturing him.

Suddenly he's shocked when a pair of yellow eyes suddenly materialize from the empty foliage. Then slowly, like a wave retreating from the shores, the cloak of camouflage ripples off to reveal a horned nose.

Crawling up the snout the retreating ripple reveals a set of sharp, but protruding teeth. The dragon emerges from the empty space of foliage – a pair of branches shift and warp into horns at the back of the head, prickly twigs soften and droop into a pair of antennae with leaf-like lobes.

Regardless of the company, the sight of the dragon is enough to make Hiccup whimper and scramble back in the dirt. The men snicker, holding him in place.

The Changewing slowly approaches, a deep, hateful growl vibrating the stiff autumn air.

It's eyes gleam in the waning sunlight, reflecting almost like gold. Like the metal, they look cold and unforgiving. The pupil is nothing more than a slit, pitch black in the pool of its eyes.

"No . . ." Hiccup whimpers, his insides turning to liquid when the pupil begins to swirl. " _No_!"

"Steady boy," Alvin coos, a hideous parody of mirth. More laughing. Haunting, mocking laughter.

Hiccup clutches his eyes shut, but callus thumbs and fingers press into his lids, forcing them open. Hiccup's eyes water, the Changewing's eyes almost looking like they're starting to glow. A golden fire lit within.

"You may feel powerless now, boy, but soon you will watch the fear in men's eyes." Alvin begins to mollify. A parody to sound fatherly. "As captain of my army, your fame will spread throughout the archipelago."

He has to get away. But the hands refuse to let up.

"You will see the fiercest warriors flee your presence," Alvin continues, his broad silhouette walking around to the Changwing's side. "Armies brought to their knees; entire nations crumble at the mere mention of your name. You will know power you would have never known on Berk."

Alvin's voice begins to soften, echo. Hiccup doesn't know if it's his muffled hearing, or . . . It's almost . . . calming. Soothing.

Hiccup's body drops once again to the forest floor, feeling as though there's liquid lead in his veins. The swirling of the pupils is overpowering.

He can't look away.

"Never again will you be lost. From now one you will be at my side, boy. An Heir to my Tyranny. A Harbinger of Hell." Alvin soothes, pride flickering in those soulless eyes.

The world became a blur as it mimics the motion of the pupils. The trees bend and warp, the ground beneath him steady despite watching the tree roots grip his ankles. All feeling leaves his body.

His muscles relax; shoulders slouching, mouth agape, his memories forgotten. His head tilts to the side, the swirling eyes mimic it. the growling almost sounding like purring now.

The darkness is now creeping further into his visions. Or perhaps it's the claws of the Changewing, ready to slice at his throat. Figures crowd around him, their eyes nothing but black sockets.

"You are a force that will bring the cloud of darkness." The darkness whispers. It slithers along his limbs like eels. Somehow, he ends up on his back, the cold dirt cradling his fingers. "Fear. Strife. Dust and blood and shadow. These are the things you will share with all. A blight to infect the very world with the black certainty of oblivion." The voice says.

No distinct tone, no owner now. Just whispering sweet promises.

The gold, swirling eyes hover over him. Blinking in a quiet rhythm that only he and the dragon can hear. "Your blade shall kill all who oppose you. If they dare come into your embrace, they will meet their fate."

The darkness consumes him.

* * *

Hiccup hasn't returned since their lesson at the Academy. She hopes he isn't holding a grudge.

Astrid chuckles at the thought, hefting up the barrel of chicken for Stormfly. She walks into the Nadder's stable, the dragon finishing up her first meal. "Here you go girl," Astrid grunts as she drops the second barrel down. As Stormfly digs into it, she scratches under the Nadder's chin, earning a clucking purr.

Astrid looks out the window of the stable. Night has fallen over Berk, a blanket of storm clouds rolling in. It'll be refreshing from the stiff autumn air, the shift in pressure making everyone's hair stand on end. She hopes Hiccup will be home in time. Maybe she'll stop by his house to see if he's home. Toothless' scales do camouflage him well at night. He might've gotten back hours ago. Lightning flashes overhead, spiderwebbing across the sky.

As she closes the windows and barricades the doors, she's startled by a loud crash just outside Stormfly's stable. It rattles the foundation, Stormfly's head perking at attention. The spikes of her head stiffen and fan, rippling along her tail. Accompanied by thunder, it could've been missed by an untrained ear. Astrid steps closer to her Nadder as more lightning flashes in the gray sky. She counts two seconds before another crack of thunder rattles the stable.

"Easy girl. It's okay" She soothes.

A third flash of lightning lights up the sky. The bolt appearing like a fissure in a cracked porcelain vase. It isn't long before the skies open up and a heavy downpour obscures her vision. She can barely see Fishlegs' house just across the square. She snatches up her axe she left propped by the doorway.

She tries to listen over the pouring rain, suppressing her shivers as the cold quickly sets in through the water. It coats her arms like frigid armor.

Another thump behind her has her whirling and readying her axe. Astrid looks around but sees no one.

When suddenly, a shadow moves to her left. Her head whips in its direction and with another flash of lightning, she sees it.

A cloaked figure sprinting across the rooftops of Berk's residents. The hood conceals his face, but the body shape tells her it's a male. Snarling, Astrid charges after him, plucking a couple of daggers she keeps strapped to her belt.

"Hey!" she yells. But the figure keeps running.

The cloaked man leaps for another roof nearby, Astrid taking the chance to throw one of her daggers. It sticks into the head of the carved wooden Gronckle head of the house's roof, startling the man. His steps falter for a second but regains balance as he finds a new spot to land. She has to admit, the feline grace with which he lands on the roof's edge is admirable.

Crouched like a cat, the man turns to look at Astrid, who snarls and advances towards him.

"Stop right there!" She yells. He's stealing something, and she has to stop him.

The sky lights up, illuminating his armor: all black, mostly looking to be padded leather over a tunic, scaled armor secured on top for extra protection. He has a variety of daggers strapped to his belt, his forearms, and his boots, no doubt. Menacing looking duel swords are strapped across his back, the hilt of a third cleverly hidden down his spine. A black mask hides his face, carved to look like a wide, grotesque smile.

A low, soft laugh.

Astrid's blood runs cold.

He seems to accept her challenge, standing tall before flipping forwards off the roof and landing square on his feet with such grace. Puddles are already forming in the square, the rain making visibility near impossible. With the darkness of the leather, he's almost as invisible as a Night Fury.

The cloaked man stands, slowly reaching over his shoulder to draw the duel swords. Even with the storm brewing overhead, she can see the blades shine. Polished as if they'd just come from the forge. He spins them in his hands, a show of skill, but Astrid just scoffs, unimpressed.

Then the man charges. Astrid does too, meeting him in the middle. Their weapons collide with a deafening clang. Pushing off, they begin their dance of swordplay. She can tell it's one he knows well; every strike she goes for, it's met with one sword, barely having time to duck to avoid the second.

So fast – unspeakably fast and graceful. A wraith moving through the mist.

Their weapons meet again, but this time he spins the sword around, driving the pommel into her neck, bypassing her guard that's focused on blocking.

Astrid immediately gasps, dropping her axe upon reflex. The man kicks it across the square, swiping with his swords. Astrid tries to focus her breathing, bringing up her hands, not wanting to be completely defenseless.

The figure stands there, water sliding off his leathers. He is just staring at her, quiet and still as a cat.

Astrid taking a stance, showing no fear despite not having her axe. The man seems to take pity on her, to her annoyance.

He sheathes one of his swords, replacing it with has two long, wicked looking daggers. He flips one into a new position. The kind of position that Astrid knew would easily allow the blade to go straight up through her ribs and into her heart. He tosses his other sword to her. It whines as it flips before sticking into the ground an inch from her feet.

She refuses it, spitting at his feet in retaliation.

She won't accept a weapon out of pity. She won't accept it just because he thinks she's at a disadvantage. She takes a step back and brings her hands up.

The figure fluidly moves towards her, his daggers extensions of his arms. A whirlwind of black and steel. Astrid is grateful she left her vambraces on from training at the Academy. She manages to block most of his attacks, but slowly she can feel a stinging pain bloom across her arms, her chest, her sides.

Gods, he moves like a black wind, such lethal grace, and –

The figure drives her arms apart with a downward swipe and slams his head into her nose.

Astrid stumbles back, biting back the pain. She covers her nostrils that are flowing with blood, already soaking her hand and dribbling down her throat. She looks to the daggers in the man's hands. Both blades are dark with dripping blood.

The more she breathes, the more she can feel the small but consequential cuts across her torso. Each one feeling like a thorn stuck in her skin. She spits a mouthful of blood and spit onto the ground. Still, she brings her hands up.

Another flash of lightning, the thunder deafening. It illuminates the figure again, and this time she can see something peeking out from within his cloak. The man has something concealed inside.

Whatever it is she can't let him leave with it. As she takes her stance, the man sheathes his daggers, bringing up his own hands. Astrid grins. This she's good at.

She charges the man, swinging left and right like always. But the man grabs her right arm and yanks her down. Astrid rolls with it, quickly coming up on her feet. She swings again, only to be met with air.

Then, two blows. One to her stomach, the other to her ribs.

Then there's a kick to her knee and has her screaming from the pain. She drops to the ground, balancing on her good knee. Her attempts to not be vulnerable is thwarted in flashes of white as the man continues to beat her with an onslaught of well-placed punches and kicks.

She manages to get in a few good hits, but her vision is blurring, and she can taste blood. Somehow, she gets to her feet, continuing her defense of blocking, waiting for an opening. But the cloaked man provides none.

Two more punches to her face her Astrid wheeling, and she spins and topples into the dirt. She waits for the man to finish her off, but instead she watches as she walks over to his sword still embedded in the dirt. He pulls it free, effortlessly before sheathing it at his back.

Astrid attempts to push herself up on her arms, but they quiver and crumple from her weight.

She can only watch exhausted as the cloaked man climbs up a stack of barrels next to one of Berk's houses. He leaps like a cat, moving with the smoothness of a snake . . . it's unfathomable.

Once he makes it to the roof, he pries her dagger loose, attaching it to his belt. Astrid again attempts to push herself up. This time managing to get to her feet, but the world is severely teetering beneath her feet. So she ends up falling to her knees again, retching bile.

She lifts her head and finds the man still on the roof, crouched like a cat.

Astrid snarls, feeling the sting of defeat.

Lightning flashes again, and in that instant, the figure is gone.

The rumble of thunder being the only trace.


	5. Chapter 4

Aching. It feels like his body is aching all over.

A constant throb that swells across every muscle, every vein in tune with his heart. The worst is his head; a slow clenching behind his temples, like someone trying to grip the inside of his mind.

Hiccup's eyes flutter open, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. An unfamiliar tingle prickles along his limbs, like an army of ants is crawling along them.

 _What happened_? He asks himself.

Rolling over on his side, he inhales sharply as the room suddenly tilts. Squeezing his eyes shut, he keeps breathing deeply until he feels his head settles. Blinking them open again, Hiccup slowly sits up in bed. Resting a hand on his forehead, he wipes away some sweat and raking his fingers through his hair.

The last thing he remembers, he had flown with Toothless to the Typhoomerang flower field. He was lost in thought –

Suddenly, like a jolt of lightning, the images of his dream seize him. His heart begins to race, and Hiccup clutches his chest, his breathing becoming quick. His head jerks over to the large stone slab that acts as Toothless' bed and finds it empty. The black scorch marks have long since dried, their warmth having long since been leeched into the air. The sight makes him tremble.

"Toothless!" he cries as he tosses the blankets off. The rushed movement has his head spinning and Hiccup falls over the edge of the bed, catching himself on his hands and knees.

The sound of heavy and rushed footsteps makes his settling head turn towards the stairs that lead from his loft bedroom downstairs into the dining and family room. In a blink, a large black shadow pounces up from the steps and towards him.

Toothless, panicked from Hiccup's distressed call, leaps atop the young Viking, cooing in comfort.

Hiccup can't help his laughter as the Night Fury assaults his face with slobbery kisses, his pitched cooing making him sound as relieved to see Hiccup as well. Finally Hiccup manages to calm the dragon down enough to push him off.

Despite wanting to spring to his feet, Hiccup takes his ascent slow; Toothless staying close in case he falls. Once he's up, he pets and scratches his dragon's head, covertly examining his dragon for any signs of injury.

Nothing seemed to be wrong. No scars. No blood. No bruises.

"Oh, thank Thor." Hiccup breathes, an inaudible giggle managing to escape his lips. Toothless coos, nuzzling Hiccup close. "B-but wait . . . w-what happened? I know what I saw, and you did too."

Hiccup pushes himself back up to sit on the edge of the bed Toothless nudging closer to him. A silent apology for letting it happen. Hiccup scratches behind his ears and the top of his head.

"It's okay, Toothless. I mean, I guess we're okay."

With his head settling, Hiccup stands ad readies to walk to the kitchen, but after taking a couple steps, he pauses from the sudden pain in his left side. Hiccup hisses, walking over to his mirror, lifting his shirt. His stomach sinks.

Bruises; fresh bruises freckle along his left ribs, thinning as they get to his shoulder. Looking like rotted roses, he finds more down by his right hip, and a few faded ones just under his right cheekbone.

Something did happen to him. And Hiccup knows it was Alvin.

Perhaps he passed out during his fight with Alvin, and his father found him, or the riders; and they brought him back to the village. He needs to find his dad; he needs answers. Hiccup does his best to ignore the cramp-like pain as he heads down the stairs into the family room.

Cold white daylight streamed in through the front-door and the loft skylight. There's a fresh fire brewing in the hearth, a pot of some sweet-smelling stew wafting in the air. His father doesn't seem to be home, but Hiccup expected as much. His father always gets up early; the like of the chief. His best chance may be the Great Hall, or the Dragon Academy. He remembers his father mentioning something about polishing Thornado's saddle.

Hiccup rummages through their cabinets and ice boxes, managing to find some warm yak milk and a day-old cod for Toothless. Tossing the fish to the Night Fury, Hiccup sets up some chicken and jerky with his yak milk. He takes one spoonful, sours his lips and dumps a heavy spoonful of salt over his meal.

He carefully controls his breathing, learning the limits of how much his lungs can fill before the pain becomes stabbing. It's enough, thank the gods.

Hiccup is about to take a sip from his mug, when suddenly Gobber comes barging in through the door. "Hiccup!" he yells.

The sudden intrusion makes Hiccup spew out his milk, the beverage spraying from his nose and into his lungs. He violently coughs, doing his best to wipe his nose and clean off the wet spots on his tunic now.

"Gobber!" Hiccup says in irritation. "What the hell, don't you ever knock?"

"Very sorry," Gobber replies. Hiccup didn't miss the briefest pause Gobber did at his outburst. It baffles Hiccup as well; he never usually spoke to anyone like that. He rarely ever lost his temper, if . . . ever. "but it's very important."

"Tell that to my tunic." Hiccup grumbles as Toothless licks up the remaining milk from the wooden floor. He grabs a rag as he asks, "So, what did you need?"

"Actually, your father sent me to get you."

Hiccup's head perks up, the faint tightening of dread coiling in his stomach. "What is it?"

"The village was robbed last night. Your father wants everyone in the Great Hall."

"Robbed, what? Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone is fine, but it would be better explained if you just came to the hall." Gobber insists.

Hiccup is quick to shovel down the rest of his food before running back up to the loft for a quick change of clothes and to grab a leather jacket. Autumn's chill is settling over Berk, making the air crisp, and bringing the cold of the ocean to Berk's village. When leaving his home, despite the Great Hall being just up the hill, the wind stings his cheeks and he wishes he had brought a scarf. But he wasn't going to be in the cold for long, and the Hall has a grand fire pit.

He bounds up the stone steps, feeling smaller than usual as he approaches the steep mountain to which the Hall is carved into. The stone arch and the intricately patterned double doors looking paled by the sea salt. The two enormous Viking statues that flank the arch stand proud; each mounted on a dragon, the torches they hold already are holding a soft, amber glow. Not enough to be a full fire, just to let the heat waft into the hall.

Gobber and Toothless behind him, Hiccup pushes through pain from his bruised ribs. He focuses on his breathing, trying to use it to cushion the knot he can feel growing in his side. When he's at the top of the stairs, he's near winded. Perhaps he shouldn't be riding Toothless as much.

He yanks open one of the ginormous doors, the hinges moaning like a deep-sea dragon. Just inside the entryway, it also boasts huge and impressive, yet fearsome statues of Viking ancestors, along with larger-than-life tapestries depicting historical battles and achievements. There is also a row of shields, each depicting former chiefs and their heirs, showcasing the proud lineage of leaders that have ruled Berk.

Most of the villagers are seated at the dozens of benches and long wooden tables. Wide wooden pillars are scattered throughout the inside with decorative metal bands on them, their purpose only to be ornamental.

In the middle of the hall sits a huge, circular table with a fire pit in the middle that currently houses a monstrous fire. Over the fire pit hangs a golden figure of a Grapple Grounder dragon impaled by a sword, a skylight above being the main source during the day. Along one wall is a raised platform for which a speaker can address attendants. Small torches line the walls for enough light.

Hiccup slows to a stop a few feet away from the fire pit. His father stands on the platform, a small crowd of villagers standing in front. Hiccup carefully weaves his way through, most stepping out of his way when they look back and see him. And when he reaches the forefront of the crowd, he can see why.

Worry pinches his chest as Astrid sits on a wooden stool next to his father, her voice filtering through the hall as she relays what had happened last night.

She is the witness.

The only silver lining Hiccup can find is that she doesn't seem scared, but more rather on edge. Astrid's not one to scare easily. But as he takes the step up to the platform, his own reassurance fades as he can see small cuts sprinkling across her arms, and no doubt her torso as she's wearing a different attire than usual. The bandages take up both her forearms and an area of her right bicep.

"Astrid." Hiccup calls and mounts the steps to join his father's side.

"Hey Hiccup," she says, but her voice is . . . timid. Quiet, as if ashamed.

He didn't know why, but he felt the strange need to hug her. Her entire demeanor seems pallid compared to her usual outgoing self. She seems shriveled in shame; whoever this person was had beaten her, badly from how she hangs her head. But at least she wasn't hurt as bad as she could've been.

He can already tell this thief was focused only on his job. Something to respect; he could've killed anyone that got in his way, but at least he had morals.

Still, Hiccup asks, "Are you okay?"

Astrid nods, but she quickly drops his gaze, folding her arms. It if weren't for the spark in her crystalline eyes – a spark of anger that speaks of heavy revenge – Hiccup would've been worried for her. It would seem her pride had been hurt the most.

"Glad you could join us, son." Stoick says as he gestures Hiccup to stand next to him. "Astrid was just telling us what she saw."

Gobber comes up behind Astrid as Hiccup reaches his father's side. The Viking doubles over, breathing heavily while resting his hook hand on Astrid's shoulder. "Gods Hiccup. Those skinny legs of yours sure can carry you."

"Sorry Gobber." Hiccup cringes.

Stoick calls the meeting into order and the men and women gather around. Those who couldn't find a spot at the front stay seated at the many tables. "Now, Astrid, tell us what you saw last night."

Astrid sighs, clearly not wanting to disclose her defeat and failure to protect whatever possession this thief stole. "I was feeding Stormfly for the night, and as I was giving her the last serving when, I saw someone move out of the corner of my eye."

Hiccup wanders over to one of the columns, leaning his hip and shoulder against it; Toothless comes over and lays at his feet.

"He was running across the rooftops, admirably stealthy. I had managed to stop him and get a glimpse of what something hiding in his cloak. But it wasn't enough to stop him." She says through grit teeth, her voice hardening with anger. "When we fought, it was like nothing I had ever faced. Such skill – he moved like a black wind; incredibly well-trained and knowledgeable. I did what I could, but I it wasn't enough. I _should've_ done more."

"Don't blame yourself Astrid. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't even know about this thief." Stoick says, attempting to ease her. She only shrugs, still ashamed. Stoick then asks, "What did he look like?"

"It was pouring rain, but I managed to get a good enough look at him. He had what looked like layered leather armor. It was in his shoulder pads, his vambraces, and then some bits of chain mail on top. And a lot of weapons. I saw what I could, but I wouldn't doubt if he had more." She finishes.

"Did we recover anything from the scene?" Hiccup asks, looking to his father.

Gobber answers instead. "We're still looking it over, but already I can tell we aren't going to find much. This man seems professional; he didn't leave anything behind but smeared dirt and chipped wood." The crowd of Vikings starts to murmur, the acoustics of the hall making it sound like a pit of rattlesnakes. "We've asked the homeowners if they heard anything – and they said they didn't hear anything over the rain."

"That's another thing." Astrid interjects. "The man was so quiet. He barely made a sound."

"After Astrid came to Stoick and I, we did what we could to ask around the neighborhood; nothing had been missing." Gobber finishes.

"Then, what was stolen?" Hiccup asks.

Astrid stands and moves her stool as Fishlegs walks up, cradling the Book of Dragons in his hands. Hiccup's insides turn watery as Fishlegs almost seems on the verge of tears. He lets the young Viking approach, crossing the stage to him. He gives Hiccup the book, hands trembling.

Hiccup takes it and flips through it. It seems fine until when he reaches a certain page. There the pages seem to just open on their own to reveal the jagged remains of the parchment that was ripped out with merciless force. Looking like the teeth of a shark, the only remnants of the page were the charcoal smears left behind.

Hiccup knew this book like the back of his hand, having been its editor and illustrator. So when he looks to the next page, finding information on the Boneknapper, he knew.

The pages of the Changewing are gone.

"Do we have any leads on who it is?" Hiccup asks.

"Not yet." His father replies. "But we'll keep looking."

"It has to be Alvin." Hiccup states. His gut instinctively coils at remembering what had happened last night.

"How can you be so sure, Hiccup?"

He can't tell him about what had happened, not yet. Not in front of all these people. But he manages to substitute with, "Who else would send a thief to tear pages from the Book of Dragons? He's tried stealing it in the past and succeeded. He didn't know how to use it, but still. Now he could be taking it piece by piece for whatever reason."

Stoick ponders, stroking the front braid of his beard. "I won't deny it is a distinct possibility. We haven't heard from him in a few weeks, but that only adds to the suspicion." He then turns to Bucket and Mulch, standing at the forefront of the crowd. "Mulch, Bucket, gather some of the men and tour the whole perimeter of the island, see if there are any Outcast ships docked in secret." He looks to the crowd. "I'll be gathering a small search party to scour the rest of the island on foot."

"Maybe some of the riders can help, Dad."

"Perhaps, but I don't think this time." Stoick retorts. He quickly waves the crowd off, signaling their time to listen is now over. Like the obedient villagers they are, they scatter at the chief's orders. He then turns to Hiccup and adds, "We need to investigate this quietly. If there is someone scouring around the island, looking for that book, we do not want to him off. Especially if he could be hiding in the village. I do not want their trust in me unraveling under false suspicions."

Hiccup's shoulders slouch in bitter agreement. If this person is stealing information on dragons, having large shadows hovering around the island will be a dead giveaway that they're looking for him.

Fishlegs sniffles and Hiccup places a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be okay, Fishlegs. We can rewrite the pages and redo the drawings." Hiccup promises. He almost feels as bad for him as he does Astrid. This Viking's life is dragons.

"It's not that, Hiccup." Fishlegs says as he wipes his eyes. Hiccup furrows his brows. "I just feel so horrible. I mean, all of your hard work, just gone. Especially because it was on my end table, just out in the complete open."

Hiccup smiles gently. "It's okay, Fishlegs." He repeats. "Besides, I was going to do some modifications anyway." he says nonchalantly to calm Fishlegs. It seems to work as the young Viking wipes his eyes again, smiling in return.

"All right. That concludes this meeting." Stoick says as Hiccup dismounts the steps with Fishlegs and Astrid. "Everyone keep a sharp eye out for anything or anyone suspicious. I'll need some volunteers to patrol the Square tonight."

With that, everyone begins to file out. Hiccup spares a few quick words with Fishlegs and Astrid, saying he'll meet them at the Academy later. He needs to tell his father what happened. Or ask, really. Because something _had_ to have happened. Hiccup has the bruised ribs to show it.

He walks over to his father, who was conversing with Spitelout about who will patrol where in the village.

"Dad –" Hiccup begins, but his father holds up a hand, making him pause. Once Spitelout's finishes, he turns his attention to Hiccup. "What's wrong, son?"

Hiccup tries to swallow away the icy lump that forms in his throat. "D-dad," he stutters.

"Son? Are you alright?" he asks, placing a steady hand on Hiccup's shoulder.

Hiccup nods, barely convincing his father. He gestures Hiccup to sit down at one of the tables, and he obeys. This table is located in the corner of the hall, allowing them as much privacy as Hiccup can manage without calling his father to the house.

"Did I . . . what happened to me last night?" Hiccup asks.

Stoick's face floods with relief at his question, but Hiccup's body grows numb. That's the not reaction he was hoping for.

Stoick ponders for a minute. "I remember Gobber telling me you and Toothless flew off after training in the Academy."

"Right. . . " Hiccup urges on as Toothless walks up to his side.

"Well, when it got late, Thornado and I went looking for you. We found you two by the flowers near the cliffside. I had assumed you just fell asleep in the sun. Guess Gobber went too hard on you now, huh?" his father concludes with a laugh.

And just like that, the world seems to tilt on its side. Hiccup holds out a hand to the table to steady himself, his head growing too light, too fast. Bile rises at the back of his throat.

No. No, this is wrong.

This is _all_ wrong.

He had just assumed his father didn't say anything because he didn't want to disclose it to the village. But to have his father claim that _nothing_ happened, that _nothing_ looked wrong. . .

Hiccup leans forward, stuffing his fingers in his hair. "No," he whimpers.

 _No, no, no, no_.

"Hiccup, what's wrong?" his father asks, a steady hand on his shoulder. Hiccup hates how severely he's shaking already.

He tries to control his anger, his fear, his rolling stomach as he says, "Dad, something happened to me last night."

"What?"

Slowly, Hiccup lifts his head to look to his father. "I was by the flower field, but I _didn't_ just fall asleep." Stoick's eyes widen, his brows narrowing. His hand slowly retreats. "I was attacked."

Stoick looks to Gobber, who seems just as surprised. Hiccup tries to not let it sting as he continues.

"I remember I was with Toothless, and Alvin and some of his soldiers ambushed us in the trees. I fought what I could, but then I blacked out. I, I don't know how or why, but I know Alvin was there. Perhaps the attack and this thievery are related."

Stoick and Gobber exchange glances that do nothing to make Hiccup feel any better. Only made worse when his father says quietly, "Hiccup when I found you, you were fine."

"But I wasn't!" Hiccup insists, remembering to keep his own voice in check. I was _attacked_! Toothless was tied up and dragged off! I saw it. I saw everything!"

"I'm afraid I didn't see anything wrong when I arrived."

Even in the crowded space, Hiccup steps close to his father and lifts his shirt, exposing the bruising. The Chief's eyes widen, anger flaring up in his father's eyes. It could be the dim lighting of the hall, but Hiccup could've sworn the bruises already seemed to have healed a little. Thankfully they're still noticeable.

"I wouldn't do this to myself, Dad. I _can't_." He lets his father stare at the bruises, really let his anger boil before he says. "Alvin may still be here, and he may be plotting another heist right now."

Stoick stands and nods, turning to Gobber. "Bring some men to the field and search the trees. Leave no stone unturned, not bush unsearched." His father growls, clearly trying to contain his anger. He looks to Hiccup, kneeling down and placing both hands on the young Viking's shoulders. "I'm sorry, son. I didn't see anything wrong."

"It's fine, I just, I thought you would've said something."

"We'll find Alvin. Even if we don't, this village will be under the strictest surveillance." Stoick stands. "But until we have the results of the search, I don't want you out after dark."

"Dad –"

Again, his hand held up, Hiccup pauses. "I won't have any arguments. Alvin targeted you, even with Toothless he was still able to hurt you."

The Night Fury walks up, brushing his snout against Hiccup's hand. The Viking scratches the dragon's snout. "He just got the drop on us, Dad. Toothless can _easily_ –"

"Hiccup, please. Just listen to me on this; I can't have Alvin ambushing you again. After you're finished with the Academy, you come straight home. If you decide to go anywhere, you go with Toothless. But even then, I'm not so confident."

Toothless growls in protest, but Stoick ignores it.

"Dad, please – you can't keep me locked in the house until he's found. I'll go crazy."

"I'm letting you off _easy_ , son. I could make things worse. Remember that. Let's just see how the search comes up, then we can discuss this later."

With that, Stoick walks back towards the firepit asking for volunteers on the land search. Hiccup's shoulders slouch in defeat. He is right; his father could have made the rules a lot stricter for him, having someone else guard him around every corner of the village. At least it showed he still had _some_ faith that they can keep him protected.

He doesn't acknowledge anyone as he leaves, stuffing his hand in his leather jacket. The autumn chill isn't as sharp when he isn't running, and Hiccup simply saunters down the steps as he can hear other villagers leaving the hall. As he listens to the padding of his foot and metal foot, he tries to remember what had happened between him and Alvin.

He can still hear the sound of metal clashing against his shield, the soldiers trying to hold Toothless down, Alvin's voice rippling through the shadows of the trees.

Suddenly Hiccup hisses as searing pain shoots through his temples like a bolt of lightning from Thor's hammer. He squeezes his eyes shut, colors flashing against the black, a familiar sound ringing in his ears; like crickets in the late night. Images flash through his mind, like a busted damn.

There are more men. A morphing tree. A spine-chilling hiss. Swords swing, shields clash.

A blackness that ripples like water but consumes like tar. A hideous smile that stretches from ear to ear.

Hiccup's feet stumble, and he opens his eyes to find his vision wobbling. But he can just make out Gobber's blacksmith shop. He hurries towards it as fast as he can without tripping over his own foot. He manages to make it to the back room, his room of the shop. His drawings scatter across his desk, pinned to the walls, and rolled into scrolls on the bookshelf.

Hiccup sits on the stool, resting his elbows on the desk. He breathes through the pain, the images having been blurred, like a mass of pain colors. The grip on his mind loosens to a gentle caress, sweat beading atop his forehead. Toothless nudges Hiccup's hip, but the Viking grunts at the dragon to stay back. To not bother him.

The heat of the shop feels almost suffocating despite the chill on the breeze. Once the caressing hand has lifted, Hiccup blinks his eyes open, slowly. He continues to breathe evenly, his vision focusing. The warm buttery glow of candles settles in the room, rippling with the slightest movement of air.

Running his fingers through his hair, Hiccup sighs, wiping his forehead. He looks to Toothless, who approaches wit worried coos. Gently the dragon paws at Hiccup's thigh and the Viking pets his head. He finds himself more aware of the feelings in the world: Toothless' little bumps of scale on Toothless' head, the callus of the wood of the stool, the glow of the candles. Taking in as many details as he can as if it'll help him to separate a dream from reality. Tell-tale signs that will tell him he's dreaming.

But last night was no dream.

Alvin did attack him. And Hiccup fought him; he ahs the bruises to prove it. This is one of the few times he wishes he didn't have his shield made from Gronckle Iron. There could've been potential dents and scratches that would've helped prove his story.

Hiccup sits there, petting his dragon, waiting to feel like himself again. And he does – sort of; the pain goes away, his head settling back on his shoulders, and soon he feels the urge to do something to keep himself busy. He can't really go to the Academy today, he won't be able to participate in Gobber's training due to his ribs.

So, he'll settle for the next best thing: smith work.

He takes off his jacket, hanging it on the hook in the wall and grabs his apron. He's been meaning to work on some new alterations for Toothless' saddle, as well as polish up his Gronckle Iron shield. And who knows, and perhaps sharpen a few of the weapons around the shop. Gobber certainly wouldn't mind, and he will understand why Hiccup didn't show up today at the Academy.

The next few hours are filled with heat, smoke, sparks, and shavings of metal and wood. He probably sharpened almost every weapon for the armory, took up twenty more pages in his sketchbook, and covered himself in enough powder that even with a hundred baths, his skin may be stained grey. His left arm feels as heavy as Thor's hammer, his right hand stained smeared with red from opening new calluses from the grip he had on both the weapons and tongs. Toothless had made himself comfortable by the forge, Hiccup having removed his saddle for some measurements.

After attempting to wash his hands as best he can, the dragon's ears perk up as Hiccup comes to the forefront of the shop to hang his apron and put on his leather jacket. Hiccup quickly grabs some gauze to wrap around his hand while Toothless stretches, the sky having turned a dark navy blue, the last of the rose-pink and tangerine orange just starting to fade over the horizon. Shrugging on his jacket, Hiccup grunts at the sharp poke in his shoulder. Oh, he is defiantly going to be feeling _that_ tomorrow. He waves Toothless over, and the two walk back towards his house, Toothless staying on his right side for some extra pets along the way.

The village is mostly quiet this time of the evening: shops closing up, parents escorting their children back inside for dinner, and dragons gathering at the stables to shelter from the cold. Hiccup is just starting to feel the chill when he opens the door to his home, welcomed by a warm fire and the smell of some fish stew. His father sits at the dinner table, taking a slurp from his spoon. Toothless licks his lips, purring in anticipation.

"Don't even think about it, dragon. Your bowl is over there." Stoick chuckles, pointing to a large bowl filled to the brim with a variety of fish. Immediately the Night Fury abandons Hiccup to feast, Hiccup just starting to close the door behind them. Lifting his mug of ale, Stoick says, "Welcome home, son."

"Hey Dad," Hiccup replies, hanging his jacket on the coat hook. The many weapons hanging from the wall seem to glitter in the firelight. "how was your day?"

"Unfortunately, uneventful," he says, his tone laced with resentment. "I'm still waiting for Gobber to come over with any news. Hopefully it'll be good."

Hiccup strolls over to the fireplace, grabbing a rag and lifting the cast iron lid of the pot. A heavy cloud of stew wafts into his nose, and it smells delicious. He hadn't even noticed he skipped lunch, and now that it's late evening, he's famished.

"Well, that depends on what you mean by good news." Hiccup says with a grin.

His father chuckles, gesturing his mug to Hiccup. "What about you? Gobber said you didn't show up at the Academy."

"I figured I wasn't in the best shape to be training. So, I helped out a bit around the shop." Hiccup says as he sits down at the table.

"I could tell; I could smell burning iron from a mile before you walked in."

Hiccup grins at his father, taking a couple spoonfuls of his stew. His father pours him some ale, the two sharing a toast of their mugs. Toothless has already gobbled down most of his meal, near regurgitating from a bone. It was almost perfect to be eating with his dad and his dragon, a moments peace before there's a knock at the door.

Stoick gets up, allowing Hiccup another couple of large scoops as the door opens. Hiccup can feel the cold brush against his back before Gobber's voice filters into the room. Hiccup turns in his chair to find his friend just walking in, Stoick exchanging pleasantries with him.

"Always impeccable timing, Gobber," Hiccup grumbles, not even trying to hide his annoyance. Though his father gives him a stern look, Gobber doesn't seem to care.

He instead makes himself at home, grabbing a spare stool they always keep in the corner for such occasions, and sitting down next to the fire. Stoick goes towards the back wall to the left is a tap of some sort of beverage and pours him a mug, even grabbing the half loaf of bread from the breadbox built into the wall. He hands it to Hiccup, who sets it on a plate, placing it at the center of the table while Stoick serves Gobber his mug.

Gobber takes three good gulps before he wipes his mouth and says, "Sorry to bother you two at this hour, but I assumed you wouldn't be doing much."

Hiccup shrugs, Stoick assuring him it isn't a big deal. Which it isn't, but Hiccup is just irritable from the combined ache of his arm and his bruised ribs. Toothless belches behind him before walking to the front and sitting near Gobber. Stoick serves Gobber a bowl of the stew, while Hiccup hands him a slice of bread. With a jerk of his chin, the Viking begins to devour the food.

"So, have you got any news from the scene?" Stoick asks as he reclaims his seat at the head of the table. Hiccup having angled his chair to see both Vikings, he takes another slurp of his stew, getting a well-flavored piece of salmon.

Gobber folds the slice of bread in half, dipping it into the stew and taking a big bite. "Oh, I've got news. Whether or not it's the kind of news you want, that depends." Hiccup can't help but smile, Stoick sparing a grin, but trying to remain serious in the discussion. The humor runs dry quick as the Viking's shoulders slouch with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, Stoick, but we've looked everywhere, checked every house in the Square, checking and rechecking every area that Astrid had told us about. We couldn't find anything."

Hiccup lowers his spoon, looking to his father. The defeat in his eyes makes the meal turn to ash in his mouth. He sets his bowl on the table, going for a swig of his mug.

"And you're sure –"

"Absolutely, Stoick. I went through that place with a fine-toothed comb. All I got were splinters and rocks in my boot."

"Well you tried your best, right Dad?" Hiccup chimes, trying to ease the palpable tension. His father only sighs, leaning back in his chair, resting an elbow on the table, fingers on his forehead. "We had an idea that this thief was good; no one said it was going to be easy."

"It's not just that, Hiccup." His father says, his tone low and gruff. It doesn't sit well with Hiccup. Another sigh. "The men and I checked the area by the flower field, and we fanned out from there to scour the area."

"And . . .?"

Stoick closes his eyes, his lips pressing into a thin line. "And we didn't find anything."

Toothless' head perks up. The logs crackling in the fire is the only sound in the house.

After a few stretching moments, Hiccup says. "You're joking."

His voice is as quiet as a moth's wings.

"You've got to be joking."

His father shakes his head. "Just as Gobber, we checked everything there was to check. There were no footprints, no sign of a camp, no smears in the dirt even. Mulch and Bucket also sailed around the island and said they checked all the caves, circled every sea stack. Not a single ship to be found."

Hiccup just stares at the two Vikings, blinking slowly, running through the motion in his head. He tries not to pay attention to his fast beating heart. In a surprisingly steady voice, he asks, "So what does this mean? You don't think that the Outcasts are related to the thievery?"

Stoick, interlacing his fingers, says, "It doesn't hold as much water as it did before, but, also . . ."

"What?" Hiccup asks, even though his shrinking gut already knows the answer.

The silence from Gobber and Stoick feel like a knife to the gut.

"What?" Hiccup repeats. His voice growing agitated, his hands shaking as he fists them. "You think I lied?" he springs up from his seat, the chair's legs whining against the aged wood. "You think I did this to myself?"

"I didn't say that, Hiccup."

"But you're certainly drawing to that conclusion quicker."

Gobber holds up his hands, as if that can help deflate the suffocating tension. "Look, maybe Astrid went a little hard on you. She did pin your shoulder for a good minute. You could bruise easily, or maybe you feel out of bed . . ."

"You don't believe me." Hiccup hates how his voice cracks at the end.

He can see it ignite the old impulses of when he was Berk's embarrassment. Pity lines their eyes, and while Hiccup wants to cower from it, he also wants to scream. He slowly turns away from the Vikings, bracing a hand on the table.

"We're not putting anything past Alvin, Hiccup." His father says. "Hiding ships is like child's play for experienced warriors such him. But we also want to make sure you're okay."

Hiccup can only shake his head and stare blankly at the floorboards. He repeats, all too quietly. "You don't believe me."

Out of his peripheral vision, he thought he saw hurt reflect in his father's eyes. But what's worse, is that Hiccup doesn't care.

"Hiccup," his father says. Hiccup shrivels at the tone; a fatherly tone yes, but one that he used to use when Hiccup was a scared babe.

Hiccup looks to his father. He sees his father's eyes filled with worry; filled with concern for his son. His son whom he probably thinks on a slow descent into a dark place. He extends a hand, but Hiccup withers away from it.

 _This can't be real_ , he thinks. _This couldn't be happening_.

Hiccup's eyes blur and he knows tears are coming. He tries to choke back the sob, but they are starting to affect his body. He begins to tremble as if caught in a snowstorm with just a tunic. His father still holding a hand of comfort.

Slowly, as if remembering how to do so, Hiccup turns to look at it. He almost wants to snarl at it; slap it away and yell to his father that he doesn't need it.

 _Hasn't_ needed it for sixteen years.

So, he only shakes his head and with a sluggish tempo, turns for the hallway adjacent to the living room. Thankfully the tears started streaming down his cheeks when he's halfway to the bathing room. Toothless, a few paces behind him, comes in close to his side.

Hiccup wipes his eyes with the heels of his hands. Toothless' eyes furrow in worry, a frown adorning his scaly lips. He coos to Hiccup, comforting him in the only way he can. When Hiccup reaches the bathing room, he doesn't even close the door before he starts to stripe out of his uniform and leathers. Toothless shuts the door with his tail, even flicking the latch into place with his nose.

Hiccup doesn't care. He only cares about soaking in the tub.

The bathroom is a rectangle of a room. It consists of a long wooden tub at the center, a cabinet and mirror in the back left corner, a built-in outhouse in the back right. He's grateful to find the tub already filled, Stoick probably having brought some in for the night. Without a word, Toothless walks over and ignites the coalbed the tubs sits atop of. There's a wicker basket of towels and freshly made soaps sat next to the tub, and Hiccup just grabs one and begins to scrub himself. After a minute of lathering, the bubbles floating along the surface of the now-grey water, the smell of lavender and lemon wafts into his nose.

Toothless – whose been sitting next to the tub keeping the fire at a steady glow – purrs before circling the tub for a new spot. Hiccup takes the pitcher next to the basket and begins to rinse himself. Despite the thought of sitting and rinsing in his own wet dirt and charcoal not sounding clean, he's too exhausted to care.

Toothless warms the water enough that Hiccup watches the dirt drift towards the border of the tub. Hiccup rinses himself again, scrubbing extra hard on his face until it tingles. The soap and bubbles float to the edge of the tub, steam wafting into the air. Even after rinsing a second time, Hiccup just sits there, an arm dangling over the edge of the tub. Toothless doesn't miss the chance to brush his nose against Hiccup's fingers.

The young Viking is grateful for the touch. He's never felt so alone. The feeling of Toothless' forked tongue gently licking between his fingers brings the most comfort Hiccup's felt.

His father doesn't come to check on him, and Hiccup doesn't know whether to feel better, or worse. He thought he might've heard a knock after half an hour, but it could easily have been the house settling.

Finally, when Toothless lets the water grow cold, Hiccup decides to get out. Toothless boils the tub water one last time to allow Hiccup a third rinse. He does, uncaring of the water dripping onto the floor. He barely dries himself off with a towel, his hair still dripping when he exits the bathroom.

He holds the towel around his waist, leaving his clothes where he discarded on the floor. The house is dark, the fire having gone out. He assumes his father is in bed, Gobber having gone home for the night. A part of him wonders what they talked about after Hiccup left. But its quickly smothered.

Walking up the stairs to the loft, Hiccup goes over to his dresser, opening the drawers and just picking whatever clothes laid at the top. Toothless hops onto his stone bed, enough fire left to warm it. Hiccup slides into bed and it feels like his entire body just sinks into the wood.

The last thing Hiccup hears is a gentle hiss before dozing off.


	6. Chapter 5

Hiccup's eyes gently flutter open.

The darkness of the house means it's late in the night. The sky a black velvet blanket with a sprinkling of stars across its vast expanse. Hiccup down his bed towards the dead stone in the corner and sees the dragon sleeping soundly.

A hushed hiss echoes like a whisper on a wispy wind. Hiccup sits up in bed, looking towards the skylights of his room. The hiss urges him with a delicate finger, coaxing him towards the woods.

In a smooth motion, Hiccup swings his legs over the bed, careful to avoid the floorboards that crack at the slightest pressure. He throws on his leather boot, along with the jacket, tucking a dagger into his belt. The Night Fury doesn't stir as Hiccup makes his way down the stairs into the living room. From there he slips through the back door of the house and walks directly into the woods.

His face blank like a doll, his feet walk with wooden steps at a swift pace. Occasionally he would look left and right, as directed by the hiss.

 _Do not be followed_ , it threatens. But he is not afraid, for he cannot feel fear.

Going for a midnight stroll is nothing out of the ordinary for the people of Berk. As the shadows of the trees slowly crawl over him, he lets the hissing guide him, like a mouse following a scent trail. The trees have shifted colors now, lovely autumn shades of red, orange, and yellow. Some have already shed their decorations, now casting the forest floor like a pallet of mixed paint. Here the animals of the trees don't bother going quiet, even they're unable to hear his footsteps as he trudges through.

His walk brings him to a gathering of trees near the edge of the Cove.

He stops and waits, staring blankly at the gnarled root of an oak tree.

A minute of chirping crickets and croaking frogs passes before a snap of a twig is heard. Hiccup looks up. Savage, and three Outcast men materialize from the trees, weapons ready; but when they see Hiccup, their shoulders slouch and wrists slack.

"Ah, Hiccup." Savage says, knowing Hiccup can't reply. "Is it that time again?" he chuckles before turning to one of the soldiers. "Go get Alvin."

As the guard steps back into a snarl of thorns, a Changewing emerges from behind Savage. The undulation of its scales lifts the many textures and colors of the dying forest until its fiery-red-and-orange body and leaf-like antennae are capturing the paled moonlight. It hisses and slowly stalks towards Hiccup. The young Viking blankly stares into the dragon's eyes as it approaches, unfaltering and unfeeling. It hisses and clucks, Hiccup tilting his head to the side.

Changewings have always looked indignant, but this particular one seems more, unruly. Hiccup feels his eyebrows furrowing in curiosity as he starts to actually _look_ at the dragon. There are deep gash marks that crisscross their way along the dragon's back, and get smaller as they reach its face, its snout.

Whipping scars. And those smaller cuts no doubt are made from a dagger.

Signs of torture.

He thinks his heart skips a beat upon seeing the abuse, but he can't feel it. Can't feel the emotion that should accompany such a discovery.

He can't feel anything.

A cluster of twigs break, and Alvin emerges from the skeletal foliage. The Changewing turns to him growling softly, but deeply; Hiccup still staring blankly at the dragon.

"Ah, well hello Hiccup. Back so soon are ya'?" he asks with a raspy laugh. "They should have all kids like this. Obedient. Quiet. And no back talk."

"I believe he's here for another assignment, Alvin." Savage says with a devious grin.

"Very well, then. I was just getting tired of reading the Changewing pages anyway."

Alvin snaps his fingers and the Changewing Dragon slithers away from Hiccup and coils behind Alvin. "Now then, Hiccup. I need you to get me some information on the Whispering Death."

As he talks, the Changewing's pupils begin to swirl – until Hiccup can't tell where one ends and the other begins – translating Alvin's unheard words into the hollow shell that is Hiccup. Like someone snuffed out the old Hiccup and replaced him with someone new.

Someone different . . . and dangerous.

There was nothing he can do. Nothing, as he watches through eyes he can't control, muted by a tongue that refuses to speak.

Alvin's words mold this empty shell into something new, like clay in the hands of a god. They fill its head with thoughts of conquest laid with carnage, the glory of a field bathed in blood, the ecstasy of an enemy's slaughter. All having it beat into the blackest most twisted heart in all of the archipelago.

A being completely foreign to Berk.

A monster inside of him. A monster he didn't even know he had. Only to be released when the darkness calls.

At the mercy of the Changewing's power, Hiccup is a statue. Eyes wide and staring into the eyes of the dragon; its pupils churning within its wholly gold pond like ink in water.

"And make sure you don't disturb the other residents." Alvin finishes, tossing Hiccup the black leather armor. Tied without any effort, the mask and swords spill from the ropes, skittering through the dirt until they land at his feet.

Meaning: _If anyone sees you, make sure they never see the light of another day._

The Changewing barks, and Hiccup nods in reply. A puppet on a string. His once beautiful emerald green eyes, now stark and cold, the concentrated green of pale jade. As if looking through frosted glass.

"Keep the uniform this time. No sense in having you the extra legwork."

With nothing more than a conqueror's chuckle, Alvin the Treacherous disappears into the foliage, his men following. The Changewing stays with Hiccup as he changes into the leather armor, securing all his weapons, the layers, and even the rope through the loops and holes. Hiccup secures the cloaks to the clasps on his shoulders and pulls the hood over his head.

He looks to the Changewing who croaks, jerking its chin and protruding teeth to the mask. Hiccup picks it up, looking at the design. Colored in black as dark as midnight, it resembles the wide grimace of skeleton. Its interior has screen lining that covers the nose for gas, and the eyes for debris.

Hiccup places the mask on his face, the darkness seeming to swell and attach itself to his mind. Satisfied, the Changewing grunts with approval before it slithers back, evaporating into the foliage.

The puppet is now on the prowl.

Turning his head towards the direction of the village, Hiccup breaks into a sprint.

Somehow, feeling nothing seems to have made him stronger. His breathing never falters, his legs working like a well-oiled machine. He weaves between the trees, leaping over rocks and steams like a stag bounding across the plain. he can see the lights of the village and slows his pace before climbing a tall oak. He nestles on a branch that gives him a view of the residential district.

The houses give off a warm welcoming glow; citizens going about their routines of the evening. Tending to last minute chores, feeding farm animals, hanging freshly hunted meat, all focused on themselves.

Through the black fog of his mind, he remembers last seeing the Book of Dragons in the Great Hall. Whether or not it's still there, he can only check to find out. From there, it'll likely be at the chief's house, or that hobbling blacksmith just across town.

Hiccup looks to the branches extending towards the houses. He finds one that reaches over the middle of one roof. Prowling his way across, he steps down and observes his path towards the hall.

The sky is cloudless tonight, so it's too risky to be roof hopping tonight. He'll have to stick to the shadows, at least at this time of night, the torches of the Hall are extinguished. Hiccup shimmies down a chimney to the ground, hiding in the sliver of darkness. He stays behind the back walls of houses and cuts through alleys that lead him faster to his destination.

Soon, the intimidating statues that guard the Great Hall is in his sights. A sudden sound from behind made him rigid. He turns and finds the blacksmith just closing up the shop, singing his little tune.

Discomfort immediately wells in his chest, thick and black as an oil spring. The black fog of his mind recedes enough that he can name the smith: Gobber. Weapon's master and closest friend to Berk's Chief.

It's as if something is stirring in him, and now he wants to call to the smith.

Call for . . . help.

But his mission is clear, and he has to move _now_. Since Gobber didn't see him, he wastes no time. Sticking to the shadows, he moves his way up to the Hall as nimble as a cat.

There's no sign of pursuers, but he keeps a dagger within easy reach of his waist. He ducks behind the mouth of the horn of the statue as some voices filter through the doors. The enormous doors open, and a couple of young Viking men step outside, giggling amongst themselves, their gait uneven from intoxication. The door moans as it closes on rustic hinges, and Hiccup slips inside, no more than a wisp of shadow.

The fire burning in the pit is small, giving off a warm orange glow as he enters. There is no one else in the hall. The silence is as palpable as molasses.

Walking around the border of the pit, he traces his fingers along the stone until he reaches the head where Stoick the Vast always conducts meetings.

There it is. The book.

He wastes no time, lifting the corner of the brown leather cover. Opening the book wide, he thumbs through the pages, the parchment smelling like fish and ink. Its spine made a soft creaking noise as he pulled it open all the way. It went easily, as though the pages spent more time being pinned apart than clamped together.

He takes a quick glance up to the door. With no sign of anyone, he returns to the book.

Black writing covers every inch of the buttery paper, followed by drawings of each dragon to give a visual representation. It is, too, the most beautiful handwriting he's ever seen. Each loop and every curl connect cleanly to make the writing itself appear as perfect and uniform as a painting.

It baffles him how someone can sit and take the time to form letters so meticulously. He checks around him one more time before flipping the page over and there, his suspicions confirmed, he finds more writing.

In some places, there are big spaces where he had written around drawings. They're more like loose sketches, actually, the lines never certain but nonetheless making pictures. They are detailed sketches too. Meticulous right down to the scale designs on a dragon's snout.

He thumbs past another page, this time daring to read a little of what is there. But at the same time, it's like he almost knew what is written.

It all seems too familiar.

He glances up, stooping slightly to try and see through the slightly ajar double doors. No sign of anyone. His eyes dart back down to the page, searching for the places where he'd left. He'd read just a little bit more. It's not like it's a personal journal.

Dragons of all different kinds appear on each page. All with unique abilities and powers. The names seeming to match the appearance for the dragons perfectly.

 _Monstrous Nightmare._

 _Gronckle._

 _Deadly Nadder._

As he flips to the next page, something about the dragon hits an unknown mark in his chest.

 _Night Fury_.

The entire thing is blank. Except for a few rough sketches of the creature.

 _I really need to update this_.

In a blink, Hiccup whirls around, palming a dagger. There's nothing but the crackling logs of the fire, and the sounds of the wood popping as it settles.

Relaxing his wrist, he looks back at the pages, the familiar feeling growing inside him. He can't explain it, but that sense of familiarity is almost, guiding. A thin and paled red tether that leads into the darkness of his mind. Leading to something that makes him curious enough to follow it. And reading the book seems to help.

But just as he is about to read the name of the only accounted Night Fury found, the book is thwacked shut.

Hiccup first stares at the sausage-like fingers that press the cover down, then gradually his eyes travel up the hairy arm, and father still until they met with a pair of frosted blue eyes.

They narrow on him in disdain, and the way they look at him makes him feel like at any second, the air was going to constrict and choke him lifeless.

"Can I help you?" Gobber asks.

Without waiting for an answer, a gleaming head of a hook swings down.

* * *

Gobber had just closed his shop and was going to put out the fire in the Hall when he saw him. Looking like nothing more than a shadow, he watched the thief slip into the hall, past the two drunken men teetering about. Gobber tried his best to make his way up the steps as quietly as possible, considering everything Astrid had claimed about this man.

He was more than a little surprised when he peeked into the hall and found the thief thumbing through the Book of Dragons. Gobber had slipped inside and ducked behind one of the giant statues just inside the hall, right as the thief was scanning the room.

Peeking over the shoe of the statue, Gobber can't help but raise a curious brow as the thief almost becomes relaxed when thinking he's alone. The way his posture relaxes, how he hunches over the book, resting his elbows on the table, even resting one knee on the bench. It left Gobber perplexed, but only for a moment, because that's the Book of Dragons he's looking to steal from.

Somehow Gobber had managed to sneak up close to the thief and slam the book shut. He only noted what he could about the thief. The leather armor, the mask, the cloak . . . it all matched what Astrid had said. What she didn't see was the unnerving grimace carved into the thief's mask; a smile of a demon.

The thief looks at him, as still as a cat.

"Can I help you?" Gobber asks. But he doesn't want an answer.

He had just changed out his hand when he closed the shop, but he's had more than his fair share of kills with just his hook. He swings it down, aiming to pierce it through the right shoulder blade. Mainly into the leather, but if some skin catches . . . oh well.

But the thief flips back, Gobber's hook denting the stone. Chips of the pit fly as the thief flips back further towards one of the tables, landing on his feet as solid as a feline.

"Clever little bastard." Gobber admits as he shakes rocks dust off his hook. "But you're not leaving with that book."

The thief stands and readies two wicked looking daggers in his hands, spinning the blades in his hands. A show of skill. He bends his knees, taking a fighting stance, the blades pointed out.

He charges Gobber, the Viking managing to grab a left-over plate. Its not much, but like he lectured to the kids, anything can be a weapon.

The thief takes a leap, Gobber swinging his left hand to crash the plate into the thief's head. He's sent rolling along the floor, some of the tables skidding, but he doesn't slow down. He's immediately upon Gobber, slashing his blades left and right, not leaving any room for an opening. This had been Astrid's downfall, but with a hook for an arm, Gobber's able to use the hook to block, his other to strike a few good punches.

Unfortunately, his focus is narrowed, and he didn't see the thief sheathe both daggers as he ducked low to avoid another punch. With swift hands the thief unclicks a rope from his belt, ties it around Gobber's wrists and sends him swinging through the air like a fisherman casting his line.

Gobber crashes into one of the wooden tables, the hall whirling like a kaleidoscope. His back lands first, his spine screaming as he can feel the splinters embed themselves in his skin. He lays there shocked for a moment, baffled at how a young man his size could fling him. He may not look like the most muscled warrior, but he certainly has the strength. The rope loosens, hissing along the floor as the thief winds it back in.

As Gobber pushes himself up, there's a sudden shift in the hall. A shiver racks his body as he turns and finds the Hall now bathed in impenetrable shadow. The paled moonlight coming from the skylight flickers like a dying beacon.

The thief had extinguished the fire.

The book is still on the counter, and Gobber is mostly thrilled. Even if it also means the thief isn't done with him. He'd rather toy with Gobber than to just take it and leave. So much for having morals.

Gobber tries to listen around him, doing his best to ignore the throbbing pain in his lower back. He listens but can only hear the wind singing down through the skylight. Suddenly, there's the slightest movement to his right, but it's already too late. The under cut to his jaw sends pain crackling across and up to his temple. He thinks his teeth might've cracked. As he goes for a swing with his left on where he thinks the thief would be, he only hits air. Looking around, there's only shadow again, and a suffocating silence. There's another punch to his right rib, the thief slipping past another punch to deliver a kick into his stomach.

Gobber doubles over, the thief slipping back into the darkness. This thief isn't ordinary. He's as silent as a mountain lion but strikes with the speed of an asp. And that black armor against the shadows . . .

It's like hunting a Night Fury at . . . night.

This time Gobber does hear the running steps, the thief emerging from the black, the shadows sliding off him like a pilgrimage of phantom hands. Gobber tries to be ready, but the thief feints left, going right and dropkicking Gobber in the chest. He flips back with the momentum, Gobber crashing into another table and sliding along the floor.

As he attempts to get on his feet, he hears the harsh sound of paper ripping. His heart sinks. As he gets to his feet, he's forced to blink past the lights flashing in his vision, and the room beginning to tilt.

He hears doors of the hall fling open, their rustic hinges pitched deep, like the groan of the dead. It's one of the most frightening sounds he's heard.

The thief had left with the pages.

He can't let that bastard get away. He _can't_.

His body aches all over, no doubt already starting to bruise. But Gobber forces himself to stand, blocking out the pain as he did when he was just a young lad. With a heavier limp in his step, Gobber goes after the thief.


	7. Chapter 6

**~As I continue this Refinished version of Mindbender, I feel compelled to admit that I find myself taking different turns with this story, and where it could go. Coming up with more, reasonable outcomes, and filling some plot holes that fit the world of How to Train Your Dragon better. My intention was just to rewrite the first story of the Mindbender Series, but now I find myself debating on whether or not to go with my gut and rewrite the whole series. This is still just an idea in my head, and truthfully, a part of me thinks that rewriting the whole series would make it lose its, originality. I'm not really sure. It's just a thought I wanted to share.**

 **I'm happy to see all the positive response to the Refinished: Mindbender. And once again, I can't thank you all enough for the support on both the original, and the refinished story.**

 **Thank you all again, and I hope you enjoy the story!**

 **KeshaRocks Xxx ~**

* * *

It's amazing how little you care about other people when living behind a wall of plaster and paint. Even if it is just the size of your face.

Sprinting through the village, Hiccup almost wants to laugh at the circumstance. He almost wants to wake every citizen in the village if it meant getting another fight like Gobber had presented. He had never felt such a rush of adrenaline. He only wishes he could've finished the job but getting the information to Alvin is priority.

Besides, he knew Gobber was following. Knew about a minute after he fled the Hall.

It doesn't matter. He's nearly ten yards in front of the Viking. He won't stop him.

Hiccup's lungs burn and his legs are leaden, but he keeps running, kept his mind focused on the destination ahead.

The sound of crunching leaves and labored breathing fills the autumn air, and Hiccup keeps his gaze on the wrinkled and dry trunk of the tree far ahead of him. One step after another, one breath in, one breath out. Breathe — he has to remember to keep breathing.

He turns a corner, heading north — toward the Cove. One step after another, never slowing down. Nimble as a stag bounding through the woods.

The trees part, revealing the field that lay between the village and the Cove. The end of the path. His head spins, and he would have cursed at the stitch that lanced through his side had he had any breath to do so.

He keeps his feet moving. Only a few yards left. The light of the open field grows brighter and brighter as it approaches.

This part of the island is surrounded by forest rocks, trees, roots and a pond full of fish. The grey and green scenery adds the tropical touch of a mystical island that an island such as Berk needs. With its vast waterfall gathering a pool of water, the Cove acts like the sole ground of finding purpose and knowledge.

Then, he clears the trees, and the Cove surrounds his vision in an explosion of space and sunken grass and rock. It is covered with lush and dense foliage and is bordered by a multitude of rocks, only bridged to the outside world by a small gap between two rock faces. The rock faces are covered with vines, moss, and thick roots from older trees that sit at the edge of the faces.

An inland freshwater lake sits in the middle of the area, which is fed by a small waterfall. The Cove is littered with mossy rocks which forms the occasional stack. There are several taller trees like pine in the Cove.

He runs a few more feet, slowing his pace to cool down. He makes his legs slow, slow, slow, makes his feet walk, makes himself take breath after.

When he reaches the edge of the Cove, he shimmies and swings down a thick root to the bottom. The Cove is quiet save for the waterfall, constantly tickling the surface of the pond with ripples. Crickets chirp, and a frog will occasionally croak.

Across the water a giant tree sits at the edge, its roots – looking like the thick hands of a forest troll – slink down and around a pile of rocks ready to pluck them from the earth like grapes.

Hiccup prowls towards it, his dagger with a casual reach of his hand. His cloak trails behind him in a wave of ebony. As he rounds to the other side of the pond, a voice, low and gruff, purrs through the roots and moss. "Well done boy."

Alvin emerges from between the roots, Savage close behind, sword ready, as Alvin meets Hiccup. The young Viking continues to approach, until he and Alvin stand half a foot apart from one another.

"Well?"

Without a word, Hiccup reaches into his cloak, pulling out the folded pieces of parchment paper containing the information about the Whispering Death. He hands it to Alvin; the burly man taking it with a sinister chuckle.

"You do great work boy, much better when under the proper tutelage. This is working out better than I thought. Who would've thought that with a simple dragon, I've now –"

As Alvin gloats, Hiccup tilts his head ever so slightly. The mask hides any emotion he could have shown, each movement appearing casual. He unclasps the rope from his belt, barely glancing over his shoulder.

Swatting as fast as a cat's paw, Hiccup whirls around, sending the rope soaring across the Cove. It catches and he viciously yanks.

Gobber is wrenched from his hiding spot of moss and stone, the rope around his neck. He crashes down into the cove, having enough sense to try and roll with the momentum so his shoulder doesn't dislocate. But not before the tip of a branch lodges itself into his sternum.

Alvin has ceased his gloating and stares at Gobber with hollowed eyes of stone. His caterpillar eyebrows lift in surprise, flicking between Hiccup and Gobber. He tucks the pages into his belt before sauntering over to a stooped Gobber. "Ah, very well done indeed, boy. You've captured a spy."

Gobber glowers up at Alvin, ready to tear his eyes out with his hook. His breathing is laced with blood as he snarls, "I'm going to kill you, Alvin."

He charges for Alvin, forgetting about the rope lassoed around his neck. Hiccup yanks on the rope, hurtling Gobber back into the dirt. The Viking rolls to look at him, stunned.

"I'm afraid you'll have to take it up with my steward, Gobber. We can chat another day." Says Alvin.

Then he folds his hands behind his back and begins to fade into the shadows. Savage and a couple other men closing the gap behind him.

Until he adds, "Finish him."

As the shadows of the Cove swallow the trio of men, Hiccup turns to Gobber and yanks the rope forward. Gobber comes flopping at his feet like a fish on shore. Hiccup walks around behind him as the Viking tries to catch his breath, the rope taught around this thick column of a neck. Wrapping another end around it, Hiccup begins to strangle the Viking, Gobber's sausage fingers trying to wriggle their way between the ropes.

Then Gobber's hook strikes him in the face. The mask cushions the blow, enough that it takes another two for Hiccup to lose his grip on the rope. As Hiccup tastes blood, Gobber grabs him by the torso, gripping between the layers of the armor before slamming Hiccup into the ground.

The agony barely has time to lance up his spine before Gobber's fist starts to punch him in the face, again and again and again. His aim to destroy the mask. Hiccup tastes more blood and he can almost feel the mask starting to crack under the pressure.

His voice still wet with blood, Gobber bellows, "Whoever you are, I'm going to mount your head on my wall!"

Hiccup manages to roll out of the way of the next punch, reaching and grabbing the branch lodged in Gobber's sternum. Blood slides along the bark in a single, sinuous streak as Hiccup twists and yanks it free.

As Hiccup begins to slash the branch left and right, Gobber begins his dance of dodging, hopping left and right to avoid the deadly blow Hiccup intends to deliver. But as Hiccup's next blow misses Gobber's shoulder, he grabs Hiccup's wrist, a blow to his elbow makes Hiccup scream and drop the fragment.

Thankfully the mask is thick enough that it warps his voice to be unrecognizable. Deep and gruff like velvet midnight; his scream sounding like the howl of a demon, not a young man.

Before Gobber has the chance, Hiccup kicks him in the sternum, over the spot where the branch impaled him. The Viking doubles over, but doesn't go down, allowing Hiccup to knee him in the face. Hiccup smiles as he hears the crack of Gobber's nose. Another solid uppercut and the Viking is sent skipping across the dirt like a stone on water. He comes up on his knees, hugging his sternum.

As Hiccup walks over to him, his making sure to add some extra swagger, he draws a dagger from his belt. Gobber coughs up blood, dribbling like a dying fountain. It slinks along his lower lip, trailing down his wide chin. Exhaustion is swarming his eyes, his breathing slow as to not choke on the blood.

Still he asks, "Who are you?"

Hiccup answers by spinning out the blade of the dagger, a different grip able to allow him to split Gobber from navel to nose. As he goes to strike, Hiccup slides another dagger free from a hidden clasp under his forearm. While Gobber blocked his left arm, his right was free to stab Gobber right into the joint that connects the shoulder to the torso.

The pain and shock make Gobber drop his right arm, Hiccup stabbing in the same joint as fast as an asp. He buries the dagger to the hilt, hoping to sever a tendon or a vain. As he removes the blade, he makes sure to twist, allowing a spew of blood to arc through the air.

As Gobber slouches, Hiccup spins both of his blades out, both now dark and dripping with blood. Behind his mask, he smiles, and speaks his first words of the night.

A purr, as soft as velvet midnight. "I'm sure Hel will enjoy having you in her realm."

He lifts his arms, the blades whining, but Gobber lunges for him. Using his remaining strength, he grabs Hiccup around the middle and charges forward like an agitated yak.

Gobber pins Hiccup to a tree; Hiccup's spine shrieking in pain as a white light flashes through his vision. Hiccup counters by stabbing his daggers into Gobber's shoulder blades, burying them to the hilt.

The Viking is resilient, because he slams his head up into Hiccup's jaw, causing Hiccup's teeth to ache and red spots to flash in his vision like fireworks. Before Gobber can deliver the blows that will surely knock him unconscious, Hiccup braces his spine and hands against the tree, bringing his legs up to shove Gobber back. The Viking warrior has enough sense and strength to keep himself from falling onto his back.

Like a wraith in the realm of Muspelheim, Hiccup glides to him delivering another punch to Gobber's chest. But this time, instead of withdrawing, he grabs the neckline of the Viking's bloodied tunic.

He heaves the Viking up over his head, his weight like a cave bear. Some of the blood of Gobber's wounds trail down Hiccup's arm.

Then making sure he has a vice grip on a piece of the Viking's clothing, Hiccup follows the pull of the earth and starts to throw Gobber down.

Only to have his knee meet halfway.

Gobber's blood laced scream echoes throughout the Cove as Hiccup feels his ribs break.

He lets Gobber topple to the dirt, rolling down a small incline before coming to a stop at the water's edge. His helmet lays half-submerged in the water.

Hiccup walks over, taking long breaths to steady his heart.

Gobber doesn't move, though he's still conscious. His pained moans the only sound throughout the Cove. Even the birds and crickets have gone silent.

Hiccup allows himself a few moments to bask in his victory, the edge of the water just tickling Gobber's hairy nostrils. Slowly it starts to suck the blood from his hair, turning pink. His long-braided mustache is soiled with blood, turning his teeth pink, and smearing across his face. It blooms from beneath the blades of where the daggers still sit embedded in his back.

Hiccup walks around towards the back of the Viking.

He places his foot on Gobber's lower back, and with a final push, Gobber's head is submerged under the water.


	8. Chapter 7

Hiccup keeps waking to the impenetrable darkness of his mind.

The black wolf is watching him again.

He has added more iron. On Hiccup. Starting with metal gauntlets.

He does not remember when that was. Where that had been. There had only been the box then.

The smothering iron coffin.

A shift of his elbows has them digging into the sides of the box, chains reverberating through the small space. His bare feet can graze the end if he wriggles slightly.

He lifted his bound hands to the solid wall of iron mere inches above his face. Traces the whorls and runes embossed onto its surface. Even on the inside, he had them etched. So Hiccup might never forget that this box has been made for him. Made to trap and break him.

He doesn't know when he'll be inside. He only knows that the wolf keeps throwing him in.

Beats him, whips him, and throws him in, chaining him from neck to ankle so he can't escape. Can't fight as the wolf slips into his skin.

Hiccup has tested it for weaknesses, over and over.

He drifts into memory, into years of Gobber's training. Into lessons where he'd been left in chains, in his own waste, until he figured out how to remove them.

An extreme form of training for a ten-year-old, but essential for the son of the chief.

But the black wolf binds him with that training in mind. Nothing Hiccup tries in the cramped dark works.

The metal of the glove scrapes against the dark metal, deafening in the hollowed darkness that surrounds him.

Him, and the wolf.

No chains bind the wolf. None are needed.

For long minutes, they stare at each other.

Suddenly, there's a worm inside. Hiccup shakes his head, the chains rattling harsh against his ears in this cramped darkness. The worm latches onto his mind, attempting to burrow in. Attempting to fill his head with falsehoods.

The worm and the wolf are one. He's trying to force Hiccup to remember.

Hiccup writhes at the invading memory of cracking bones that set his foot twitching. The chains jingle.

As fast as Thor's lightning, agony runs rampant. A roar of discomfort in his feet. He can't shut out the image of how the wolf had taken them apart. How he screamed until his voice had failed.

 _No_!

 _It wasn't real, it_ wasn't _real_.

It had been a dream. One of the endless horde the wolf uses to hunt him in the blackness. An injured Night Fury, fleeing through the trees. Hours in this coffin, his feet shattered beneath ancient tools. A golden-haired young woman whose kiss is soft as a rose petal.

Hiccup's finger scratch along the sealed edge of the coffin again.

At first, he knew which had been false, and what had been true.

But the wolf is learning. His intrusions becoming more realistic, more convincing . . . more _violating_.

They blur and bleed, until he can't see the edges that help him in deciphering what's real and not real. Even now as a glimmer of heavenly light begins to slowly trickle in, that might be a fragment of an illusion.

Hiccup pressed his palms flat against the metal lid and pushes.

The wolf grins as he forces another memory upon Hiccup.

A _dream_. It was a dream.

It's about the gauntlets.

The wolf forces Hiccup to remember how he held them over the open fire, until the metal was red-hot around his hands and Hiccup was screaming, screaming—

Hiccup shoves his metal palms against the iron, muscles straining.

His breathing becomes shallow as he feels the gauntlets start to grow warm. In the black, he can see the metal start to glow a muted red.

 _No_

Too quickly the heat of the gauntlets begins to rise.

 _No_! _This can't be real_.

Hiccup's muscles begin to twitch, the color of the gauntlets is growing brighter.

Then there's the pain. The sharp, stinging pain of the heat he can't escape.

He begins to pound on the lid, begging to be let out.

It was real.

It wasn't real.

Hiccup bangs against the lid again, the air getting thinner and thinner. He can feel the gauntlets starting to melt the flesh of his bones. He keeps banging against the lid, his blood raining down upon him.

It doesn't so much as shift.


End file.
